Saints and Salvations
by Stechpalme
Summary: After the catastrophe at the Opera Populaire, Erik heads to England only to stumble across a strange girl in the woods. I am absolutely awful at summaries. E/OC
1. Chapter 1

It's like a heartbeat in my stomach, thought Nina to herself, clutching the pinching wound in her abdomen. She wondered vaguely for a moment if perhaps she would die from it. She had certainly been sure when she had first pulled the hilt of the fine blade from her abdomen in a panic and her life had begun to pour over her hands like a scarlet river, but now that the bleeding had stopped she was not quite sure. Running through the events of, first, the afternoon, and then the night she felt a little hint of sadness beneath her seething anger. She had thought this was finally the beginning of her life. But it had all been one, well played out lie.

One of the many servants of the Rousseau household had been sent for the police after, she shuddered at what Miseour Rousseau had called it, the incident, but had returned frantically soon after, stating of an empty Officer's station and fire in the sky and a mad man in a mask missing and on the loose after destroying the Opera Populaire, gesticulating avidly and occasionally giving a wary glance at the bleeding girl on the floor. However, he would not say a word to his currently intoxicated master, like many other people in the world seeing fault and simply ignoring it. Then he had swallowed something about a phantom, a phantom of the opera, and Miseour Rousseau had laughed drunkenly, muttering something unintelligible to himself, and had motioned for one of the maids to clean up 'the incident' before leaving the damask women's chamber. And she had the best she could, the maid that is, the poor dear, ripping a length of cotton from her own uniform and wrapping it tightly about her lady's abdomen. Unsure of what else to do she said a prayer for the girl not much older than herself and had nervously brushed the hair out of the unconscious Madame's face before dismissing herself. A doctor would be called in the morning, she would be sure of it.

But when Nina had heard the last click of the door signaling the maid's leave she had sat up in a hurry, despite the mortal agony she felt, and despite the rush of light headedness she experienced. She needed to leave. She would damn herself before dying here. She would not die in the home of the man that had trapped her into this mad land for his own sadistic pleasures. Well, she wouldn't die in the home of any man that harmed her, she told herself smirking even as a new flow of blood seemed to pour out over her hand. She had long ago promised herself she would not let others control her, a bad trait in a woman, she had been told many times before.

Pushing down on the bandaging of her right side she stood, despite her body's scream of protest Nina dressed herself with difficulty, only using one arm. She needed to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, she knew that. She had learned that much in her pitiful life at the orphanage, and now she would return to England, back to London, if she lived. Smiling she remembered what Emily had told her when she was a child. She was like a candle in a spring breeze still burning hotly even though she flickered and dimmed, her light remaining infallible. No one would put her flame out.

Finishing with the hastily thrown on shift, dress, coat and boots, she had begun to pack her bags, haphazardly throwing clothing and objects into her one suitcase, meanwhile saying goodbye to her home of the last few months. Although she would not much miss it, she snorted to herself. Her life here had been tedious and boring, however many gifts her 'fiance' had showered upon her, and she had been unhappy. In fact, she had much preferred her life at the orphanage over life here in this wretched place, despite near poverty and everyday chores and even frequent punishments. Any beating was a day short of the pain inflicted on her here.

When she was done choosing which objects to take with her, and after a moment when she had swayed alarmingly and then righted herself, she rang the servant's bell and stood next to the finely carved oak door. When the same maid who had attended to her entered and looked about confusedly at the apparently empty room, Nina raised a suddenly weak arm and closed the door behind her, causing the maid to jump in alarm, her fair hair bouncing once, then falling across her shoulders as she gave a curtsy to the lady.

"There is not time for that," The distressed women said in a barely audible whisper, pulling the girl to her to use her for a support. "You must aid me in my escape." The little maid nodded in comprehension and she continued. "You will get me off the grounds, do you understand me? And I will give you this." She pulled the large, and no doubt highly expensive, engagement ring off her finger and waited for another nod before handing it to the girl, who took it with a trembling hand, her eyes wide with amazement. An excited thought popped through her head that she may finally be able to resign her horrid job here, watching person after person submit to her master's games.

Now, raising a solitary finger to her mouth, the maid with the fair hair quietly opened the oak door, walking outwards with soft feet, motioning for the lady to do the same, helping her in her stumbling gait and then holding her up.

Walking through a maze of servant hallways, eerily empty, for what Nina seemed an endless amount of time, they eventually reached a back entrance and the girl lit a candle by the door and then, as a second thought, grabbed a black velvet cloak hanging on a metal peg before leading her out into the chill night air.

Conveniently, the Rousseau manor was built almost directly before a pocket of forest, and that was where the maid with fair hair led her, leading her like a trained dog across the moonlit yard. Stopping at the line where neatly trimmed grass met with an ill attempted tame of a forest, the maid wrapped the velvet cloak about Nina's shoulders and whispered a high and quavering, "God bless." And watched the older girl's leave, her eyes quietly and almost sadly illuminated by the stars, the moon absent from the vast sky. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach, a great concern for the lady she had served.

For one of the first times of her stay at the House de Rousseau Nina smiled almost triumphantly and thanked the girl before stepping into the vast wood, hands still pushing down on her wound, although the wound itself seemed to protest still with yet more throbs and pounds, like an internal drum, and the occasional sharp twinge of an extra pain.

She had been walking for some time now, lurching more than walking really, leaning from tree to tree and the thought crept to her mind now, though her mind seemed sluggish and slow.

"Will I die?" She asked aloud, and then repeated herself again and again, to the point where a passing homeless man might think her mad. And maybe she was mad, she mused to herself. Where was she now? Wandering in agony, having no idea where she was headed, but still set on her journey. She certainly felt like she was mad, though her pain had seemingly and mysteriously vanished, something that alarmed her even more than the wound itself.

She could smell the overwhelming metallic scent of blood that had by now begun to soak through the cotton bandage and through the taffeta dinner dress, and even the thin traveling jacket she had hastily buttoned and she only now remembered the frantic servant man's stutter about a mad man. She wondered for a moment who the mad man could be. A man of course, a human being, perhaps with a wife and children and friends who had all loved him before said madness. But the curiosity of the rumored man's mask tweaked at her befuddled mind as she tripped once, then twice over a tree root. Battle wounds maybe, hideous scars earned by a noble deed. And now he was scapegoated, shunned, despised, even loathed perhaps, such things, however bearable one might believe them to be, could drive anyone to madness.

Ahead, she smelt a peat fire and coughed once before continuing forward, this time with a totter until she fell before an empty camp sight, a piece of luggage seemingly abandoned, the peat fire still burning, but dimming even as she watched. She felt like she had let someone down, some figure of a higher standing, and it was all that man's fault. She would kill him if given the chance, she swore to herself, it would not be a sin to purge such vileness from the earth.

"I'll only rest for a moment." She promised herself, curling into a ball and applying yet more pressure, though she was certain she had stopped bleeding. She began to shake as if with a chill though she no longer felt the chill in the air and tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, though she prevailed and the small image of a candle in a breeze made her scrape the ground around her for a small collection of leaves and twigs and even pine needles to place on the fire.

She had almost closed her eyes when a frightening sight overtook her, for when she looked up at the tops of the trees that almost floated against the stars for a last look of night, she saw a figure donning a white mask and black cloak kneeling before her. The mask encased about a third of the man's face and seemed to give off a palpable coruscation that showed through the dampened night light and made her eyes ache at the sight of it against the darkness. What was most frightful about the man however, which was obviously male for it's broad shouldered silhouette, was its eyes that seemed to blaze a cat like yellow in the dark, illuminating like the first spark of a kindle. It seemed as though the specter's yellow eyes seemed to concentrate on the hand placed over her abdomen, the palm sticky and red with her blood, before its lips turned into a silent 'o' of understanding, no doubt taking in the heavy stain on the fine navy taffeta dress. She knew who this man was. She was certain he was the one the frantic man servant had been speaking of. The one who Paris was in an uproar over. The Phantom of the Opera.

The girl let out a small exclamation of fright as the figure leaned down towards her ear and began to speak in a soft, melodious voice. "You must promise me you will not move again. It will only make it worse. I promise I will try to help you." Closing her eyes the apparent half dead girl took in a long cool breath, the air almost icy in the winter's air, and held the arm of the man in front of her in an almost vice grip clinging on to this life line, if he was a life line. God had sent him, she was sure of it. God had sent this man to save her from death. God wanted her to live. He was her savior and her salvation and so was this man.

The man in the mask looked about warily and then laid the girl on her back to address her condition. Just by glancing at the abdomen he could tell that she had been stabbed with a small blade, something that could cause serious injury but certainly not death if tended to properly.

Looking down at the girl in his arms, the man swore once under his breath, something he did rarely, and glanced about warily before reaching behind the girl's back to unbutton her dress. He could just imagine being found undressing an injured woman in the middle of such a remote place. Thinking of conclusions, a rush of blood went to the man's face as he pulled the front of the dress off of the woman's torso and undid the metal clasps of her shift, just around her middle, unwinding the poor bandaging done there, meanwhile she stared at him with only half conscious eyes, filled with an almost fury, or frustration; he couldn't tell which. He frowned when the girl let out a gasp as the cool air met with her raw skin.

Opening the leather suitcase at his side, the alleged Phantom pulled out a needle and thread.

"This is going to hurt, but if I don't do this you'll be in a larger state of pain later." He said, holding the needle over the fire for a moment and then threading it. He waited for an answer, a nod, some sort of confirmation that she understood him, but she said nothing, only looking at him with large blue eyes. A brief thought passed through his mind that maybe she didn't understand french, she _was_ a fairly dark complexioned woman for this region.

Cursing himself for not having anything more suitable to clean the stab wound out he tore his sleeve and brushed away what blood hadn't dried already, and began to sew the lesion shut, the girl still remaining surprisingly silent. When he was done, he left the wound unbandaged and re-clasped the white cotton shift and contemplated what to do about her dress. It wouldn't be wise to leave her in the stained gown, nor would it be proper to go through her own things she had left abandoned a few feet away and change her clothing.

A hand crept to his mouth and he listened to the girl's breaths and sighs as she drifted into sleep. Her tangled hair radiated raven against the ground around her, and the shape of her face suggested Spanish, her eyes narrow, her cheek bones prominent, and her full lips, bent in a cupid's bow. She was a beauty, but she was no Christine.

Taking a dress shirt from his suitcase he wove her arms into the sleeves and buttoned the front before pulling the rest of her dress off of her slim body.


	2. Chapter 2

Miseour Fantome had stayed awake and alert all night, watching for signs of humanity around him, lest he be caught by a certain angry mob. He felt a sickening sense of anger that the well feared Opera Ghost was now nothing more than a piece of game to be tracked and killed. And all because of one flaw, his one hamartia. Well, maybe not his hamartia, he had a few of those, temper included. But nonetheless his face had been and would always remain the scourge of his life. Since the moment he was born it had earned him his mother's hatred, the world's hatred, and now even Christine's. Sighing, he pushed all thoughts of Christine to the back of his mind. She was probably in her comfy new home eating her morning meal with the lovely Viscount and he didn't wish to think of them together.

The sun was well into the sky by now, a great shining orb hanging in the blue depths, and a weak stream of light filtered through the trees quietly, casting soft shadows around every surface. The man watched as the girl with the raven hair began to stir. In his time he had read many a romance novel where a lady had woken after perhaps fainting and her eyes had fluttered open before she asked in a high, quiet, even timid voice what had happened. This was not one of those occasions. Instead, the dark skinned girl's eyes shot open with a jolt and she sat up in a rush, letting out a surprisingly low cry as she did so, making the man's brow furrow in almost surprise, though not much surprised him anymore.

Letting out a string of none too lady like profanity, Nina clutched her right side, the wound there seeming to burn and then ache. Catching attention of the man before her, she grew silent and looked about around her, before assaulting him with a glare. She took in the appearance of the man in front of her, though her throbbing side requested she lay back down and maybe sleep a little bit more.

He looked disheveled, with lilac circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept quite as much as he should have lately, and his face seemed just a little odd. False almost.

"What happened to that man?" She croaked in that same low voice she had cried out in, and she cleared her throat. Being a man with a voice that had often been described as unearthly, he was very sensitive to another's, feeling that it was even more important than their face. And to him, it _was_ a more important factor than a person's face.

"What man?" Asked Miseour Phantom as Nina analyzed his face with ever narrowing blue eyes. He took note of her eyes, for they were unusually colored, dark almost to the point of violet, with grey circling her pupils. They were strange eyes, and that was something coming from the man who's eyes shone like an animals in the dark.

"The one in the white mask. The. . . the. . . god dammit that Opera Ghost?" When he heard this, the man almost began to laugh uncontrollably, also noting the strange blend of an English and Spanish accent behind her words. So she had heard of the Opera Ghost, had she? He had almost forgotten he had changed masks in the night, it felt so similar to his normal one. He now wore the flesh colored invention that molded to his skin, making his face appear almost normal, if not a little off. The one he had spent weeks making as a surprise for Christine. Damn, there it was again. He was sure he would never be able to get Christine out of his mind. She was too. . . glorious. Something to be heard and seen, but not touched.

Silently the man lifted the corner of the delicate material along his jaw line to expose the marred, uneven skin there that led asperous paths over his face, just barely so that the girl could glimpse a sight of his deformity. Before, he would never have willingly done this, but seeing as he had lost everything, he now had no character to pertain. Waiting for some sort of reaction from the girl, he was astounded when she only nodded. There were few people in the world who hadn't had some sort of negative reaction to his face, most of those only including they who had a profit in mind.

Looking down Nina saw she was no longer in the taffeta dress she had hastily thrown back on the night before, but instead a men's white dress shirt that trailed down almost to her knees.

"You undressed me?" She said quietly, dangerously outraged, her dark eyebrows curling into a scowl. Men were all the same, she scoffed to herself. They would do anything for a glimpse of flesh.

"You shouldn't move around too much. You might rip a stitch." The man said, equally as quiet, in an almost detached voice, and she saw his legs were splayed out on the forest floor, his arms being used as supports behind him in a very relaxed gesture, something that she might call arrogant if it were not for the tone of his voice. He was dressed in very formal attire to be walking about in the wilderness, a black frock coat and trousers and equally as black shoes, with a white shirt and cravat all arranged perfectly. Even his dark hair was combed back precisely, all parts of him accounting to perfection. Looking closely she could see had a strange skin tone, almost jaundice, like he had been ill lately.

Feeling underneath the dress shirt and her cotton shift, neatly stitched thread stretched down her side in a short line and she sighed with a bit of pent up relief. Growing up in poverty she had always been wary of men, rape being exceedingly common among the poor, and now was no difference. But still she was still wary of this strange man, this _mad _man. For despite his seemingly normal behavior his eyes still hinted at a trace of insanity and that was definitely a reason to be wary. She had had enough of mad men in her life.

"You helped me then? Did this?" She gestured to her stomach and he nodded. Assuming an ungrateful attitude, she sighed frustratedly and ran a hand through her hair, flinching at the now unfamiliar feeling of knots and tangles. "I owe you then I suppose. Tell me, man, what is your name?"

His name? He hadn't a name. He hadn't had a name in years. He had simply gone by Opera Ghost, Phantom, Maestro, or even, he frowned, Angel. Drumming his fingers and playing some never ending melody in his mind, he took a long look at the girl and told her that his name was simply Erik.

"Fine then, simply Erik," She dramatized and he felt a pinch of annoyance, the girl meanwhile grabbing her bag and taking out a light, yellow dress with white lace around the neckline. "I wouldn't mind if you would turn around for a moment, Erik."

She motioned for him to turn and he stood obediently and faced his back towards the girl, only pausing to contemplate the unfamiliar feeling of someone using his given name. He had no qualms of course with refusing her request; she was no bumbling manager thinking he was an artist straight from the junk business, and it occurred to him that she had not introduced herself yet and that it was probably the proper thing to do to ask her, though he waited until she told him she had finished and he could face her again.

His eyes wandered over the sight of her in the yellow dress. She was very different from Christine, something he hadn't noticed before. Her hips and chest were broader and her stomach was not quite as thin, perhaps from the lack of a corset, and her bust was much more pronounced, and he had to clear his throat before speaking. "You must tell me now, what is _your_ name, Madame?" He felt peculiar saying it, immature almost, but he wanted to know. She was a strange girl and he rarely forgot strange people and it would definitely bother him not knowing her name.

"Ward," She said flatly, and taking a seat on her suitcase and conjuring an ebony comb, she began to bereave her hair of all entanglements, whilst continuing. "Saturnina. But people usually just call me Nina."

"Then Madame Saturnina, I bid you adieu." And with that, Erik turned again, black leather suitcase in hand, and began to stride away at a steady pace before the girl coughed a small ahem. Would this woman leave him alone? He wanted quiet, and solitude. It was what he had been used to for the last twenty years, hidden deep in his house on the lake.

"Where are you going?" Asked the girl, narrowing her eyes familiarly against the sunlight, almost as if they were in pain.

"England." He said, stopping but not turning around.

"England?" She asked in a voice as clear as a bell, making him catch a breath suddenly, holding it captive in his lungs. He had heard a voice once nearly ten years ago in the same manner and it had enraptured him so completely he felt it even now in the air around him.

And now, turning around and folding his arms, he answered her, a scowl upon his flesh masked face. "Yes. England." He was dreading something, he was sure of it. This girl wanted something from him.

"Why England?" She was still sitting down and the yellow dress lifted up a bit around her ankles and he couldn't help but suppress a sigh. Christine had had a dress like that. It was really more of something to wear while on an outing, where walking may be heavily required, but he had still loved it.

"I have business to attend to before my demise." He had hoped to scare the girl with such manly talk but she only cocked her head to one side in a manner much like a cat's and folded her arms.

"Excuse me, are you ill?"

Frustratedly, he shook his head. He was anxious to leave, anxious to be on his way to England and he wouldn't be held up by some little girl in a yellow dress.

"Your life is a gift, you know. A gift from God. It's a sin to throw away that gift. I've seen people give anything they have for a mere moments more escape from death." She said all this quickly, though the tone of her voice flared angrily, and her face said serious as she tilted her head downwards, in a commanding sense, like a mother scolding her child. She was wicked, this one. If not mad. But who was he to judge the mad?

"My life is no gift, thank you." Said Erik, sharply. Who was she to lecture him? She was barely even more than a child, and a disrespectful one at that, and for a moment he was reminded of all the bratty ballet corps. He had despised them so, but only ever for their ever flowing stupidity, for they were fine in all other concepts, even acceptable dancers, but he remembered one occasion when one of them had asked another what a _continent_ was. The very question had made him shudder. But at first glance he could tell that this girl, this _Saturnina_, or whatever the hell her name was, was definitely not as dumb as the average ballerina, however uneducated her vocabulary implied. No, her gait suggested knowledge, perhaps even wisdom.

"Ah, but then England. I am off to England too." She grinned and he didn't like her grin. For a moment it almost seemed to frighten him but he buried the feeling down and told himself he was being ridiculous. A murderer being frightened of a movement of the face? Completely idiotic. "Let us go to England together," She continued excitedly. "It is easier to travel in a pair, don't you think?" Her grin turned into a knowing smile and she leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. "And less to stand out." She added slyly.

A brief image of himself meeting Christine and that damn fop again with another woman at his side seemed to send a rush of sinful contentment to his head. He imagined their faces of utter astonishment and he had to smother a smirk before it surfaced and he coughed. But more importantly, he told himself, he didn't want to travel with anyone. Especially with such a dainty, flowery, and complanitory creature as a woman. She would no doubt need frequent stops and at night would whine about frightening noises in the dark. But, Erik sighed, as she had pointed out, the police would not be looking for a man and woman traveling together and it would add an extra security precaution, even if he was already heavily disguised. She would be a good asset if confronted about his strange appearance.

Sighing again, he held out his hand, and helped Nina to her feet.

"Together then."


	3. Chapter 3

They had been walking for quite some time, heading for Beauvais, and Erik was utterly surprised by Nina's attitude. She didn't complain, as Christine would certainly have, and she didn't demand to stop and rest every twenty minutes like any other lady of class. Actually, he told himself, she seemed intent on making good time. Even when one of her stitches had ripped through, as he had warned it might, she insisted she was fine and that they would continue.

Another thing he was surprised by was her complete comfort in such a remote place. She was unperturbed by nature so much so that she even doffed the boots she wore and went about walking barefoot, not even minding the mud that soon streaked across her thin yellow skirts, and he saw that she took splendor in watching the world around her. Her eyes slipped from sight to sight, from every tree and plant and animal, like a child so amazed by the earth.

And though she seemed at ease around him, she still demanded that he either walked at her side or ahead of her, though he was easily stronger than her. A sensible appeal it seemed, considering that he was a fairly untrustworthy character, being a mad man in a mask on the run from police. The very notion itself seemed ridiculous and it made him want to throw back his head and laugh. He was a musician, composer, magician, architectural designer, mad man, an angel even. Who knew what else he could be? Rapist definitely seemed possible, though he would never dream of laying a hand on a woman without their consent. But then again, what had he done to Christine but try to force her into marrying him with deadly ultimatums? That was a rape of it's own kind.

The pair of them both spoke little and it made for a quiet atmosphere, something they both took pleasure in, though they had agreed on travel plans earlier, first making their way to Beauvais where they would catch either a taxi or bus to Calais, then traveling by boat to Dover and from Dover to London. But now they were only concerned on their walk to Beauvais, which would take a tediously long amount of time compared to a carriage ride. A few days walk or so if they were intent on their travel.

Nina enjoyed the change of fresh air around her now, and she took special happiness at the first signs of spring creeping in the woodland around her, the edges of the evergreens a substantially fresher color and small shoots beginning to sprout from the ground and the limbs of the deciduous trees. Though she loved the winter, and even the chill of snow it never failed to bring, she was eager for spring to start. The past winter had been so harsh, but the change of seasons itself was proof that nature always righted itself.

They stayed a distance away from the main road, too close for comfort they had both decided, but never strayed far enough away to become lost, always being able to hear a passing cart.

They had walked for a time and Nina had been too preoccupied with her own observations to notice the small stream before her until Erik pointed it out and stopped.

Bathing her muddy feet downstream, she held them under the chilled water until they began to ache. With her skirts raised above the cold brook, she felt Erik glance at her as he filled a water skin and she watched him quietly as he washed his face carefully. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, even with the mask that molded to the deformed part of his face, but he wasn't exceptionally unpleasant to the eyes either. He was. . . average, though his eyes spoke otherwise. Unearthly perhaps. A someone sent from somewhere far away from this place.

Feeling Nina's gaze on him, Erik caught her eyes, but instead of looking away as anyone else might have, she held his gaze thoughtfully for what seemed hours.

Looking down at his gloved hands buried beneath the water he broke the shared silence between them and began to speak.

"You aren't hungry are you?" She shook her head. Normal, he supposed, neither was he. "Why are _you _going to England?" He asked her, his golden eyes flickering to meet her's again. Her eyes really were something beautiful. He decided that he liked them.

"I used to live there and I. . . I have friends there. I'm hoping they may lend me a room for a while." She said the last part quickly, as if embarrassed, and she looked away, feigning interest in a winter bird fluttering about on the ground a far distance away.

She sat down opposite him and they shared their familiar silence again for a while, merely resting, and he watched Nina closely. Her thick hair had already tangled itself again, despite the thorough combing it had received that morning, and she huffed and tried her best to smooth out the begrimed yellow skirts she wore, though she was mostly unsuccessful.

"You cannot be comfortable traveling in that." He stated, offering an ounce of distaste for the yellow garment, and she laughed, raising a hand to her mouth, and letting out a noise much like the pealing of a bell.

"I'm not. Not at all." She said smiling and resting her hand on her chin. "But I'm afraid I have nothing better accommodated."

"Would you perhaps prefer. . .?" He said timidly, gesturing to his own clothes.

"Oh, yes actually. If you wouldn't mind." She said, pleased, and he shook his head and muttered a small 'not at all' before retrieving a shirt, vest, a pair of trousers, and a leather belt, all of which were a bit on the smaller side for him.

Nina took them gratefully, and Erik turned again before she began to unbutton the mucked dress. She weaved her arms through the sleeves of the white shirt and buttoned the overlarge garment. Though Erik was quite thin, the clothes he lent her were still slightly big, though they were a large improvement from that blasted gown. After buttoning the forest vest, she slid her legs through the black trousers and pulled the belt to it's tightest hold, before tucking her shirt in and cuffing her trousers, though she still left her feet bare. When she finished with her dress, Nina sighed contentedly and sat back down across from Erik at the damp stream bed.

"So tell me," Erik began. "Why is an obvious lady of class like yourself wandering about in the woods with a ghost like me?" He had meant to amuse her, but she only looked back at him seriously, twisting her hair in her hands.

"I am not a lady of class, actually." She said and this _did_ surprise him. Though she spoke and acted like a rural child, he was certain by the facts of her clothing and utter wit that she was a lady, if not possessing a title of higher rank. "And as you must have realized, I am making my way to England." Erik felt the same spark of annoyance he had felt before and he frowned. He had only meant to be playful.

"And?" He said slowly, his curiosity getting the best of him as always, and he gestured to her side.

"We should start walking again. It wouldn't be wise to waste time talking." At her words, he stood and they began to walk again. She felt uncomfortable talking to him. He understood. They were practically strangers, and it wasn't a necessary piece of information for traveling companions, though it might prove useful at times. She was an aberrant girl who probably had an aberrant past she felt ill at ease with. Yes, he understood perfectly. And besides, she hadn't pried about his actions, though he was unsure of how much she knew. She had only once called him Opera Ghost and hadn't pressed further, and for that he was thankful, so it was only proper to press no questions towards her, however much his unanswered questions bothered him. She was a strange girl indeed, and he took some sort of comfort in that fact. He was not the only abnormal person in this world.

Lost in his own thoughts, no doubt, Nina watched as Erik give a start when she began to speak.

"A man wanted me to marry him and I refused. He was angry. Violent. That's how. . . ." She trailed off quietly and he looked back on her and nodded. So that was how. Simple enough, he was sure it had happened before to a numerous amount of people. In fact, it had happened to him, he realized. Though he hadn't physically harmed Christine, he was sure to have caused mental damage to the already naive girl's mind, and for that he felt guilt. Guilt even at wanting her for his own. He was a monster, a murderer, and he did not even deserve company, little lone a wife, little lone the girl now walking silently behind him. He hated himself. He had always hated himself, ever since the day his mother had thrust his face into the mirror, to see for himself what he was, but this was a new sense of self loathing. He no longer deserved life, and once he had settled all of his affairs in England, he would live no longer.

As they walked throughout the day, they were completely undisturbed by others of the human race, but when it began to grow dark the sounds of human conversation began to float through the ever chilling air.

When she heard the telltale noises of banter, Nina stopped walking and cupped a hand over her ear to listen more closely but found she couldn't make out a single word. Erik however was staring off into the distance with a peculiar expression on his face, listening intently. He heard three voices being thrown back and forth, covering each other, one a baritone, another a soprano, and the last a mezzo-soprano, a few decades older than the others, all of them possessing thick Irish accents.

"It's a man and two women," Erik said quietly to Nina, the same expression on his face, and she saw again how his eyes glowed a deep yellow in the dark. "Arguing, it seems."

"In which direction?" Asked Nina, and Erik pointed almost directly in front of him. "We should exchange with them, don't you think?"

Squinting she made out Erik's face in the darkness and she saw him shrug once and then turn again to listen, though the conversation was much more legible now.

"I'm tired. Let us stay here for the night." This was the mezzo-soprano, Erik noted, an older women, perhaps elderly.

"Fine then, but if my wife goes into labor while we are out here, you will not be blaming me!" Said the impatient baritone.

"Ah, but I will blame you. Maybe if you had a better suited job we would have been able to afford a better horse." Said the mezzo-soprano.

"I don't care what we do as long as you two quit your bickering." And that was the soprano and judging by the hoarseness of her voice, she was with child.

Deciding that the three travelers were of no threat to either him or Nina, Erik motioned for Nina to follow and began to walk towards the direction of the voices. He himself did not want to partake with argumentative travelers, but his food supply was running low, having to share with his recent travel companion, and if Nina saw a benefit in meeting with them, he saw no major problems.

Nina watched as Erik slipped silently catlike through a particularly dense scrap of wood. She followed, a little less gracefully as her hair caught on a low hanging tree branch, and stepped next to Erik into a clearing occupied by a fair skinned man and old woman, and a younger woman, all with fiery red hair and a pale complexion. a ragged dress stretching over the younger women's swollen stomach in obvious pregnancy, and the three of them sat huddled around a small fire in the middle of the clearing, an open topped wagon and old mare resting behind them.

"Hallo, men." Said the fair skinned man, raising a hand in greeting.

"Good evening, fellow travelers." Said Erik, holding out his hand and shaking the man's hand, and tipped his head forward slightly to each of the women. "Perault. Erik Perault. And this is Nina." He gestured to her vaguely and Nina watched as the three Irishman's brows furrowed quizzically. She suddenly felt completely absurd, dressed in the over extensive mens clothes and completely shoeless.

"Luke Clarke. And this is my wife Megan and my mother-in-law Susan. And pardon me are you a woman?" He addressed Nina and she gave small nod, inching closer to Erik. She didn't trust him much but at least he was better than the average stranger. Some may criticize the paranoid, but it always seemed to Nina that the paranoid got into far less trouble. Usually.

"Come then, commuters, sit! Let us speak. We've just put some soup on the fire." The man named Luke's face lit into a broad smile and he patted the earth beside him and Erik sat, folding his legs. Nina took a seat next to the older women, who she saw gave a sneer at her cross dressing attitude and muttered something rude under her breath.

"What is it that brings you to this neck of the road?" The woman Megan asked in a kind tone, a hand placed on her round stomach. She was a very pretty women, Erik remarked, her hair was of an unusual color and the sprinkling of freckles across her nose he made out in the dim firelight made for a pleasing feature, though again he saw she was no Christine. No one's beauty would ever match to that of his angel's.

"We are both going to London," Erik said casually. "Hoping for some new beginnings, I believe." He added. It was true, he was sure, even if t was only partly true for him.

"The very same reason we three are all going to Paris. I'm hoping to find better work and a better place for my family."

Erik and Nina smiled appropriately at Luke's words and Erik offered what food he had left to the steaming soup that hung on a rack over the fire. The Clarkes shared their soup with Erik and Nina with no demur and after eating, both Megan and Susan buried themselves under thick blankets and fell asleep. Erik and Luke conversed and Nina drifted in and out of their speech for a while until she became too tired to listen closely enough to make out the soft words of the French language that was not her own. Erik paused once and asked her something, his voice seemingly too far away to be heard, and she murmured something unintelligible in reply and he frowned.

Laying Nina on the ground, he begged Luke's privacy and unbuttoned Nina's shirt before taking a look at her lesion. He was instantly fueled with a deep sense of relief when he saw the healing wound. He had been afraid it had become infected, causing her obvious fever, but the close fitting stitches still held themselves neatly with little irritation. As some sort of escort he felt this girl was his responsibility, and he wouldn't be having her getting ill on his watch.

He laid Nina on her back and covered her with the thick black cloak carefully and watched as her dull eyes closed and her breathing became deeper. After watching her descent into sleep, he brushed the hair out of her face and resumed his conversation with Luke.


	4. Chapter 4

Nina woke before anyone else the next morning, and when she opened her eyes she found Erik sleeping beside her peacefully. Looking closely, his mask was less realistic than it had first appeared the previous morning, though it still seemed an object of amazement. Why, if she didn't know he was wearing a mask she wouldn't have reason to believe it wasn't his actual face. But she had always been able to see through lies easily, and this was just a lie of a different sort.

But replacing all of those facts, she wanted to see under the mask. He was deformed, she knew, the small glimpse of tightly stretched red skin she had glanced before had confirmed this. But she wanted to see the full extent of it, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad, perhaps it was worse than anything she could imagine. This was what made her want know and what drove her mad with curiosity, though she wouldn't dare try to remove his mask. It was made of a fragile material, she could tell that just by its skin like appearance, and she could tell by the way Erik carried himself and the way that he spoke that he had a short temper. In her time at the Rousseau household she had heard rumors at various formal dinners about the Opera Populaire. Unexplained deaths, accidents the managers had said, angered voices during performances, a chorus girl suddenly swept to the spotlight. A masked specter haunting the flies and rafters. And then there was the servant stammering of the fire that had consumed the opera house, a fire that had to have taken lives. The man sleeping quietly mere inches away from her had done all of those things.

And yet at that moment he lay undisturbed, lost in the innocence of sleep, chest rising and falling slowly, pale lips barely parted, a strand of hair falling over his eyes, gloved hand curled up by his face. A murderer indeed. He was more like a child. She had always felt that children were dangerous. They felt things more strongly, anger ran deeper, guilt was harder to find. Innocence could be lost so easily. They were almost sociopathic in nature. She had witnessed this often enough, and she had witnessed enough sociopaths. One with a perfect smile and flattering words. And a knife.

After standing, Nina looked up at the starless sky to find the dark abyss streaked with the bright hints of gold and orange that the dawn brought, while thin clouds whispered lazily over the morning sun hidden behind the dense branches of the forest around her. Everything the light did not touch remained black and Nina watched in silence as the sky began to turn a deep purple and then a soft gray. It had been so long since she had seen the sun rise.

"This is my most favorite time of day," Nina heard Erik's silky whisper behind her but she kept her eyes on the sun now slipping over the tops of the trees that reached with outstretched limbs towards the sky, like a painter's brush before a canvas. "The way the sun casts shadows against everything. It almost seems as if the world is both tenebrous and resplendent. Marvelous the way that light makes one think of a yearning desire and a warm contentedness all at the same instance. Simply astounding."

"Yes. Quite fascinating." Nina murmured in agreement. She sat back down and watched Erik, who was stroking the Clarke's old mare while whispering to it in hushed undertones, and waited for the other three to stir. Nina stayed locked in her own subconscious, buried in some sort of her own hypnosis, and Erik spoke with the red headed trio when they woke. When they were done with their discussion he had traded a few francs and some minor directions towards Paris for food.

"We should be on our way now, don't you think?" Erik's voice jolted Nina from her trance and she replied a small agreement. He helped her up and she smoothed out her pants from habit. Bidding the three a polite adieu, they started their walk again and resumed their steady silence.

Erik could feel Nina's eyes on him as he walked ahead of her but he found that he did not mind her cottony watch. Having been starved of social interaction nearly his entire life he did not partake in it often, but Nina was different and for a moment he thought of their striking similarities. Yes, this Spanish rose was a lot like him, minus one deformity. But with her soft words, her repetitive silence and quick wit, that hint of madness behind those enchanted eyes Erik wondered for a moment if perhaps they were related somehow, but abandoned the thought quickly. His father had died years before she must have been born, and his mother had followed suit not long after and he had no aunts or uncles to bear children. Relation was impossible.

But still he felt a connection to Nina. It was not like the feelings he had first had for Christine the night he had first heard her quiet sobs in the dark, and it was not like the small sense of family he had once felt for Madame Giry. No, this was something else, but he could not quite wrap his mind around the concept. He had met this girl for a reason, he must have, and beneath these feelings he felt a surge of greatness beginning to well, like the first invocation of a symphony spreading out before his fingers on the keys of an organ, similar perhaps to a star about to burst into the creation of a new and wonderful thing, not even thought of previously and suddenly he wanted to turn to this girl and speak with her about all the profound greatness in the world. Erik wanted a long discussion with somebody who understood his views, and he was sure this girl was capable of doing so.

He wondered if she had any musical talent.

And then he reminded himself why he was going to London and all urges of communication left him.

It was best he left this girl out of his world. He didn't need another fiasco like the one he had shared between his angel and her precious _Viscount_, though he was positive he would only ever feel for Christine. She was his first and last love, and he didn't need a distraction like Nina confusing his already muddled thoughts and his agonized heart.

But even with all of these thoughts in mind he still felt the need to speak with Nina. She was kind, not piteous. He hated pity and sympathy, like he hated the tortuous abstraction that is love. He didn't want people to feel bad for him, for his flaw and for his life. Freaks didn't want sympathy, they wanted normality, that one thing that no matter what he did would always remain out of his grasp, even with the mask he had spent years perfecting. He would always be abnormal, even if others saw him as normal, he would always have the constant reminder etched into his skin. And not just the skin of his face, but the skin of his entire body scarred from various tribulations.

Though physical torture seemed less of a tribulation now than that of that eternal oppression brought on by that first warm flutter he had felt when he had realized his feelings for Christine. He remembered that day clearly, when his angel had walked into the small chapel in the opera house for their lesson and he had realized that she was no longer a child, but a women. When her timid voice had called out as soft as a bell, the words '_I love her'_ had surfaced to his head involuntarily and he could hardly believe himself. He had stayed immune from love for so long that he had thought himself completely impermeable to that feeling he had long thought a myth. But the chocolate curled beauty in front of him was his proof of love.

Before, when he had first seen Christine and the fop together on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire and again in the graveyard at Perros when the Viscount had strode in like some fairytale knight rescuing his princess, Erik had felt betrayal, jealousy, and then a blinding rage. But now he only felt an empty grief that spread out like a mournful ocean, and a vast sense of guilt over his actions. He had hurt Christine by harming her lover. He deserved this pain, it was his gift, and so help him he had better take it gratefully. Filth deserved pain.

Nina watched as Erik stopped and dropped to his knees and gripped the decaying leaf matter beneath him in his gloved hands. At first, she thought he was going to be ill, but when she saw the stream of tears running silently down his face she knelt beside him, unsure of what to do. She had never seen a man cry before, only children, and she struggled to think of what Emily had done to cease the infantile wailing that had plagued the orphanage.

Smiling sadly, Nina wrapped her arms around the distressed man, who hesitated at her touch before giving up all resistances, and held his head to her chest. Raising a hand, she stroked his soft black hair and held him close to her, feeling a deep sense of awkwardness, though Erik ignored this and only continued his shuddering anguish, shaking with each sob that arose. It was a strange sound, Erik's crying, unnerving to the point of depredation. To Nina, it sent a sense of devastation to her soul. The beauty of his voice surrendering such a dejected noise seemed unnaturally raw.

"_When stars are born, are they cast out _  
><em> To wander cold and lonely lost in space? <em>  
><em> A loveless point of light that can't return <em>  
><em> Forever fixed within one place <em>

_ When love is lost and dreams are cast _  
><em> Like bruised and battered pieces left to die, <em>  
><em> When hands that reach out are betrayed <em>  
><em> How can my tortured soul survive? <em>

_ There's only thing left _  
><em> And that's the one thing that you needed most of all, <em>  
><em> For the freedom that you gained <em>  
><em> Is the loss that led me aimless to the shore. <em>

_ And I'm borne high on these waves _  
><em> Swept by the wind and alone. <em>  
><em> Oh, sail me away, carry me back to my home. <em>  
><em> I'm tired, I've been torn, <em>  
><em> A cruel, wretched storm churns like a gale in my bones. <em>  
><em> Oh sail me away, carry me back to my home."<em>

Nina was not a very good singer, not compared to Christine at least, and Erik, forever the critique, could have made a million comments to himself about her singing, but he said nothing and only let Nina hold him until he ceased shaking, and even then he remained in her arms until she wiped his last remaining tears away with her sleeve, taking care with the left side of his face. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a mother. He could have stayed wrapped in her arms until his heart stopped aching, an eternity at the very least, but she stood and took his hand to help him up.

"The trees are starting to thin out," Nina commented, though she didn't let go of Erik's hand, something he felt strange about. Only children and lovers held hands. Christine and the fop had held hands. "We'll have to start walking on the road when the forest ends, but we could make it to Beauvais before nightfall if we're hasty." Erik nodded and let go of her hand and Nina had a feeling he would be speaking even less for a while.

True to her knowledge, the woodland ended and Nina and Erik walked on the side of the road that led to Beauvais, silent again, though this time Erik walked at Nina's side. Rather like a sheep staying close to its herder, Nina thought, though Erik believed he stayed at her side merely because he felt uncomfortable in such an open place. Living in small confines his entire life he felt anything else was too incommodious to his liking.

Nina wondered why Erik had begun to cry previously, but she asked no questions. With sorrow came anxiety and with anxiety came anger and she remembered the last time she had made a man angry. It had gotten her a knife in the stomach and a wound which still hurt, though circumstances had been vastly different. She was certainly not going to bother a wanted murderer in a mask with questions concerning his tears, even though Erik seemed completely harmless to her and had no negative intentions concerning her fate. It was probably best it stayed that way.

* * *

><p><strong>I know nobody likes author's notes but I couldn't possibly take credit for that song. It's called Sail Me Away and it's from Lestat the Musical. Some<strong> **weird show I was in a couple months back for Halloween. I played the incestual mother** **of the hero and, in addition since no sane parent would want their little girl in the role, his demonic vampire child. Hahaha too much information... Wow I also want to thank anyone who's reviewed ****this or put it on alerts or favorited it or really anyone who has even skimmed it. You make my heart super happy. Also somebody asked about Erik using the last name Perault. I've heard this used before in Phics and I like it. Better than Mulheim at least. :P To me, that name sounds like a wine brand for old people.  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Nina sunk into the hot water of the bath in the hotel suite's bathroom. Erik had insisted they take a suite when they had arrived at the fine hotel in Beauvais. One with _two_ bedrooms, he had exacted. He would have nothing else, and the notion was very kind, even if he did lock himself in one of the rooms as soon as they walked through the door. But he had payed for her board, and she was grateful for that.

Sliding out various knots in her hair with a bar of soap, she caught side of the large bruise that had begun to bloom on her thigh where Lord Rousseau had gripped her just two nights before. She brushed her hand over it and slid deeper into the water.

He'd been drinking all day. She had smelt the revolting mixture of different types of liquor on his breath when he had pressed himself against her, and pressed her against the wall of her room. He had clamped one hand to her shoulder and the other to her leg and had placed his mouth on her neck and had made some incoherently slurred demand for her body.

He had always seemed so kind too. She had thought him her friend until he had forced that damn ring on her finger.

Lifting herself from the porcelain bathtub, she expelled all thoughts of the lord from her mind. It wasn't good to be thinking about things like that. People lost their lives that way, not literally but in a sense. So many spent their time curled into themselves, reliving memories over and over again, dwelling on detrimental thoughts, wasting their lives away. After all, that was what happened to her mother, right?

After towel drying her wet body she wrapped a white lace robe around herself and began an attempt to tame the velvety black mass of her hair.

Before they had entered Beauvais, Nina had changed back into a dress to remain inconspicuous, but when she exited the bathroom she left the garment on the floor, along with the corset she had squeezed herself into and other various garment. And instead of stalking back to her room and retrieving another dress, she laid back on the cushioned settee in the front room of the suite and poured herself a glass of wine. Hardly lady like, she snorted to herself, but she had chosen to give up all propriety the moment she had dragged herself bleeding out of her bed in the Rousseau manor.

When Erik opened the door of the room he had claimed as his, he hadn't expected to see Nina sprawled out in nothing but a robe that draped down her arms and fell to her ankles with a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other. Upon seeing him she stood up suddenly and he slammed the door back shut.

"Bon dieu!" He whispered to himself, sliding down and sitting against the door. What the hell was she trying to do? Seduce him? Damn, he had never expected to see that in his life, and now the image was burned into his mind for an eternity. He lifted his hand to his chest and found his heart beating erratically and he groaned inwardly. He imagined her wearing even less, and his heart beat faster. This was not like the love he had felt for Christine, no, this was just desire, he told himself. Plain bodily desire. It was normal, he supposed, he was a man. But he didn't like it. He was no boy being controlled by hormones towards a creature with thick hair and pretty eyes and other warm traits of attractiveness to offer.

Slowly, he lifted a shaking hand from his chest to his face and the feeling went away, only to be replaced by a cold emptiness.

Holding onto the door knob, Erik lifted himself and opened the door again, finding Nina sitting up straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked at him with misty eyes and he willed his face not to flush.

"It's getting late. You should get some sleep soon. We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning."

"What about you?" Nina crossed her arms in an intimidating gesture and he caught a glimpse of skin the color of mocha under her skirts.

"I'm not exactly diurnal." Erik said curtly. "I'm going out. I'll be back later." Retrieving his cloak from the coffee table, he left through the mahogany door without another word.

Rude, thought Nina, taking in his distant manor. He had acted so much more kindly before, but now he was just cold. Nina wondered what she had done to bring out this strange behavior in Erik. She had only been relaxing, even if it was bold to lay about in a shared place in little clothing. Maybe a bit too bold, but she felt at ease around Erik. If he had wanted to take advantage of her, he would have done it earlier. However, his face when he had opened the door to her had been something else and Nina wondered if he had had any thoughts about her. _Those _thoughts, that is. She had been told on several accounts of her ability to win a man's attention. It was a curse almost, but Erik's reaction had been humorous, one might even say cute. He had had the startled look of a deer discovered on a trail, with his maddened eyes held wide. He was not at all like the arrogant Lord Rousseau giving her suggestive glances during dinner, something that had made her uncomfortable beyond belief. She had hated the older man's attitude towards her.

But now he would never bother her again, she thought to herself with a small smile, finishing her glass of wine and setting the fine crystal on the coffee table before her. He would never find her, and even if he did, she would be protected, either by Erik's presence, or Emily and Victor's.

She did as Erik told her to and went to the room he had not taken and changed out of her robe and into a chemise and drawers, before slipping into the thick cotton sheets of the bed.

Erik didn't know where he was going, he just knew he had to get away from her. He was infuriated by her manner and so he took a night time stroll through the small city by himself, slipping into the shadows where no one would pay attention to his creeping self.

What irritated him most of all was that he didn't know the source of his anger. Didn't she know what he was? Did she think it okay to act with such requiescence around a monster? Didn't she know to use caution around a demon? She had been wary of him before, so what had he showed her that would allow him to pass as a trustworthy man in her eyes?

But she had sung for him. She was no silver throated soprano, but still she had sung for him and it was still a kind gesture. To him, almost intimate. And she had held him. He strained to remember anytime when somebody had held him, and he only conjured the memory of Christine and her fleeting kiss and embrace the night he had confessed his love and stolen her from the stage at the Opera Populaire.

Unawares to his actions, Erik wandered into a seedy bar and ordered himself a double bourbon and sat by himself quietly in the corner.

Silently enclosed into himself, Erik almost exclaimed when he felt a hand placing itself on his leg, but it was only a prostitute in a low cut red dress. Prostitutes were an unfortunately common figure in Paris, so he was incredibly used to their advances. Even with his usual white mask they still offered themselves to him, almost as if they sensed a weakness in him for that flaw.

The young girl glanced up at him with fox-like eyes that were heavily accented with cheap cosmetics and he brushed her hand away when she didn't remove it herself. Much to his dismay, she replaced it and stroked him with soft circular motions and he looked at her sickeningly.

"Leave me be, girl." He said, this time removing her hand with more force and drawing his cloak more closely around him. "Another." He added, towards the sleazy bartender who placed another drink in front of him.

"Oh, but you look so lonely." Her voice was heavily damaged by cigarettes and he scowled at the ginger call girl. "Such a handsome man shouldn't be so alone. I could show you a good time, darling." She leaned forward to show off her breasts and batted her eyes at him. She had also moved her legs to make the skirt of her red dress ride up, revealing two unnaturally thin legs, clad in fishnet stockings.

"Flatter someone else. Another drink, man." He waved her away, and he felt the effects of the bourbon start to seep through his veins. He had never really been one for alcohol, at least not since Persia, but he took this gratefully to drown his own thoughts of confusion towards Nina and constant torments of heartbreak for his Christine. The effect alcohol had on him was a strange feeling, one that he had never enjoyed before. It numbed him from the inside and it made the music he heard go away. Life without the ever flowing symphony inside him was not a life he wanted to live, but he needed something to take away the pain of his memories of Christine. And it sufficed. Well.

"But. . ." She whispered into his ear, her cold breath making goosebumps rise to the skin of his arms. "I think I'd rather flatter you, darling."

"Is it because I appear to be the richest man in this hell hole? Another." He stated this as the bar man placed another drink in front of him. She gave an amused shriek one might call a laugh, showing off yellowed teeth and a scrawny neck. Noticing her thinness, he saw she looked like she was on the brink of emaciation, almost as if she hadn't eaten in several days. In fact, her entire being looked ill and he felt a sudden sense of pity despite his deep hatred for the feeling. She was so young too. She couldn't have been a day over nineteen. Not a day older than Christine.

He really despised this world.

Finishing his drink, he payed the man behind the bar counter and stood, light headed, and taking Erik's arm in her own, the prostitute led him outside of the bedraggled pub and took him into a dank alleyway where she pressed him against a wall. Putting her lips on his neck, she moved against him to expertly mimic the motions of sex and he felt her tongue lapping against his collar bone erotically. He hadn't had many sexual experiences, so Erik was unsure of what to do and stayed standing rigidly against the wall. For a moment Erik imagined that the women in front of him was Christine, but dispelled the thought quickly. Christine would have never done something like that to anyone. Especially him.

A vision of Nina replaced Christine causing him to splutter in shock and push the girl away from him.

"Here," He said, taking out a sum of francs from his pocket and hastily shoving it into the prostitute's hand. He wouldn't have let her continue anyways. He wasn't that kind of man. "Get a good nights rest. Eat something. Just leave me be."

With little effort, Erik nudged the girl away from him and escaped back into the seething and familiar comfort of the shadows in which he had so long dwelled and made his way back to the small hotel in the better side of Beauvais. When he had returned to the quaint two bedroom suite, he found the place deserted, Nina presumably asleep in her own room.

After a moment of alarming swaying when his legs suddenly felt very unstable, Erik collapsed back onto the settee Nina had situated herself with earlier and grabbed the bottle of wine previously abandoned on the coffee table next to him. He hung his head back over the edge and closed his eyes before telling himself he was drunk.

Head still thrown back, Erik sang something from Don Juan, something he had written specifically for Christine when he had first realized his love for her. An aria for Aminta, confessing her vividly true love for Don Juan shortly after he had taken her to bed, weeping over his lies that had brought her to Passarino's bedroom in the first place. Aminta had been betrayed by the man she thought she knew, and Erik had been betrayed by the chocolate curled angel that he had known so well.

Nina woke to the fluid movements of a song filled with heart break, sung by a voice that had to be of super natural power. She did not understand the language it was being spoken in, but she still heard every meaning of the song through the interpretation of Erik's voice and her breathing stilled when it stopped.

"God forgive me."

Erik stared miserably at the ceiling and saw Nina creep into the room through his peripheral vision and he rolled his eyes to see her more clearly. She had put on the white robe again, but he saw she wore it over her sleep wear. Less seductive, he decided.

"You are drunk." She stated, making a face. Nina had thought him different from the usual breed, but he was just another alcoholic man, just like Rousseau, and just like her father, and she had to admit she was disappointed. She had had a small glimmer of hope that this man would be proof to her that not all men were the same.

"Yes. I know." She watched as he reached a hand up to his mask ad placed a large gloved hand over it. "I apologize for my. . . impertinent behavior," He apologized? For impertinence? "But I could not stand having a clear mind. It hurts too much." He said this slowly before nodding to himself.

Perhaps he was not so similar, remarked Nina.

"Would you like to join me?" He asked her, waving his arms about majestically around him before closing his eyes again.

Nina inched carefully towards Erik and extracted the wine bottle from his hand, though he gave it up without protest. After emptying it in the bathroom sink she discarded the bottle and a load of worry lifted itself from her shoulders. At least for a moment.

When Nina sat beside him, Erik rested his head against her shoulder in a childish gesture, causing her posture to turn stiff, and she felt the warmth of his breath and the coolness of his face against her chest. She was suddenly very anxious with him so near, but she told herself to relax before questioning him, even though she had already ordered herself not to. He wouldn't harm her in this state. He seemed too out of it to even think of violence.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"What hurts?"

"My heart is shattered, _Rosette_." He murmured. Nina registered this new nickname and found that she quite liked it before addressing his other words. That had to be the reason for the sudden emotional outburst she had attested.

However, it was strange seeing him this way. He had been so formal before, so proper, but he had let those walls down now in an exposing state of mind. If she asked any question, Nina was sure that she would answer it with complete honesty. He was completely vulnerable, even more so than when he had shook in her arms, tears streaming down his face.

"Who broke it?"

"The most wonderful, beautiful woman in the world and her damn lover. . . ." Erik buried his face into Nina's neck and acknowledged her warm scent, almost like the sweet smell of vanilla, and he sighed, his cold breath causing shivers to run down Nina's spine. Her skin was so soft, so impossibly soft. Erik was sure he had never felt something so smooth in all of his years on this accursed earth.

A long silence ensued and Nina brought her hand to Erik's head and ran her fingers through his dark hair like she had done before when he had wept. Gently, she moved her fingers about his face and down around his neck and watched intently as an involuntary noise of pleasure escaped his throat at her touch. Smiling at his small emanation, she ran her fingertips over the mask less side of his face and watched as his gloved hands clenched and he murmured something under his breath she didn't quite catch.

"You are a beautiful singer." She commented and Erik slid his head down into her lap, only half conscious. Nina resumed her hand's exploration of his face and he looked up at her with golden eyes that glinted green in the soft light the candles in the small glass chandelier above them cast about the room. The light above Nina framed her face so that he could see nothing else but black curls and the face that looked as if it had been carved by a doll maker. A familiar feeling surfaced, and Erik dampened a sudden urge of lust. He swore women would be the end of him.

"And you are very beautiful." Erik arched his back upwards slowly so that their faces were inches apart. He looked at her through golden eyes that were clouded over with thought and with a timid hand, he reached out and brushed the hair out of her face slowly and tucked it behind her ear, and let his fingers linger on her skin. Hadn't he done this before? Ah, yes. He had brushed a chocolate curl out of a porcelain face stained with tears once a long time ago in a dark lair after he had been kissed by an angel.

"Close your eyes." He whispered with an upward inflection, though it was not quite a question.

Nina wanted to ask him why, but she already knew the answer. As soon as she shut her eyes she felt Erik's lips against her own in a gentle serenade and she opened her mouth to accept his kiss. She had never been kissed before, not even by Rousseau, and a comical thought popped into her head that she was sharing her first kiss with a man she had only known for a mere amount of days.

His lips moved about hers gently and when he parted them she had to force herself to refrain from mewling in protest. She had liked the feeling of Erik's cool lips and breath against her own. Enjoyed it even, and she felt a sudden and unexplainable sense of terror that he would never kiss her again, that the alcohol in his veins would repress these memories.

"Good night, _Doux Rosette."_


	6. Chapter 6

Nina did not sleep at all for the remainder of the night. After kissing her, Erik had gone to his room and passed out haphazardly on the four poster bed and Nina had retreated to her room, only to be plagued with memories of Erik's lips against her own.

She had stayed as nocturnal as an owl, staring at the door which, if unlocked on both sides, led to Erik's room. She had even gotten up from her post in bed and had made sure it was locked, before tossing and turning in the white linen sheets that lined her bed and listening to the rain that was pounding steadily against the window to her far right.

Nina had to admit she was a little afraid of Erik, though feelings of fear had only settled in when she had lain back on the cool bed when the initial bliss of the loss of her first kiss had faded away. Erik's gentle touch had erased all feelings of caution towards him and when he had conjoined their lips, she had felt at complete ease, but when they had parted and she had looked into the golden eyes that stared back at her, a cold reminder went through her mind.

He was a murderer. He had killed people, she was certain of that. And who was to say he would not harm her? She had been too comfortable around the dark souled man, and now it was time to replace the walls that guarded her from the harm of the outside world. She would distance herself from Erik. She needed to stay away. He was dangerous.

She definitely did not need another Rousseau.

But even when Nina told herself to play distance with the man, she felt a quick sense of disappointment in herself. She liked Erik's company, even though they had shared few words and she knew little about him. She knew a woman had denied him and she knew that he was the infamous opera ghost, a deformed man with the voice of a god. A man who had strange but beautiful views of the world and its dawns. A man who spoke softly and who gave kisses equally as gentle and cried silently.

Doux rosette he had called her. Sweet rose. She wondered how she had earned this name.

Slowly, Nina lifted a hand to her cupids bow lips and touched them softly before feeling a rush of blood color her face.

Instead of laying by herself, Nina imagined that she was beset beside Erik, listening to his steady breath while burying her face in his chest, his lanky arms wrapped around her protectively in the dark of night, guarding her from her demons while she erased the thoughts of his lost love, the steady noise of the rain serenading them.

Good Lord, she scoffed to herself, what had gotten into her? Had she developed some sort of infatuation for the man?

Burying her head under one of the feathered pillows and giving a slight groan, Nina gave herself no answer, though she felt the left corner of her mouth turn upwards.

* * *

><p>When Erik woke the next morning, a headache pounding a terrible tattoo against his skull and, vaguely remembering his escapade at the seedy tavern the night before, he cursed himself for being such an imbecile, but surely this pain did not hurt as much as his soul's ache for Christine.<p>

The curtains in the window to his right were pulled, making the room dim, a perfect situation for a hangover. He silently thanked whoever had drawn them.

Rising, he noticed he was still in the clothes he had worn out the night before, and he slowly changed into a different shirt and trousers, not bothering with more formal attire. Who did he have to impress anymore?

A hazy image image of a creole girl's face framed by light flooded Erik's mind and he shook his head to himself. He was being stupid. If he had even slight feelings of emotion towards anyone it would be for Christine, not some mad girl he had found in the woods.

On a second thought, Erik buttoned a vest over his shirt and knotted a bow tie around his thin neck before slipping out into the main entrance of the hotel suite.

Nina was curled in a violet throne chair, a book that appeared to be a holy bible clutched in her hands, a pair of tired blue eyes darting back and forth over the thin pages, fully dressed in day clothes. Nina looked up at Erik and muttered an acknowledgement before shutting the leather bound handbook and gesturing to the mahogany coffee table where two covered platters sat.

"Your breakfast and lunch." She said quietly and Erik noticed that it appeared that she had not slept the night before.

"You're not in any pain are you? I'm not the best surgeon." Nina shook her head and took to watching him, something that made Erik feel uncomfortable. Her eyes were too wise. They knew something he did not and he didn't like that.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Nina cocked her head to one side, and her eyes remained unblinking. Erik was reminded of an owl.

"Your mask is coming loose. Just there." She reached a hand up to his face near his jawline where a corner of the delicate material had indeed begun to peel off of the side of his face. With delicate fingertips she smoothed out the liberated section against his face and took her hand away. Erik looked at her with quizzical eyes before shaking his head and she reciprocated his inquiring look.

"If anyone else had done that I think I would have ripped off their hand." He explained.

"You didn't seem to mind me touching you last night either." Her words sounded strange coming out and she instantly regretted them when she felt a hint of a blush creep to her face. She opened her book of saints and buried herself in it again. Distance, she told herself, _distance._

"Why? What happened _last night?" _Erik felt the uncomfortable feeling again that Nina knew something he did not. And she had. . . touched him? He couldn't help but wonder where. He felt somehow exposed, like this woman had seen a part of him nobody else was supposed to. He struggled now to remember anything, anything at all, but he found his memory blank, only flashes of images came forward. With a shock, he found that he did not even remember coming back to this hotel room. He remembered a face framed with light, brushing the hair out of someone's face, Nina's, he thought.

Nina looked up from her Holy Testament. Erik looked. . . emotional. Not angry, distressed maybe. He had lost the calm quality he had always assumed, a sort of panic having replaced it. His eyes ignited with a spark and Nina felt herself scooting backwards in her chair.

"How are you faring? You must have an excruciating head ache." She said this casually, completely ignoring Erik's question.

"I would be fine if you told me what happened. You said you _touched_ me?" His tone took a commanding presence, as if he demanded Nina answer him, and she stood up suddenly and Erik followed suit. For the first time he noticed their immense height difference. He was a tall man, not abnormally so, but the top of Nina's head only came to his shoulder. It was something he may have found amusing if not for the current circumstances of his blank memory.

"Do you remember?" Nina's blue eyes narrowed and Erik felt a quick sense of anger shoot through him like an arrow. He shoved the feeling down and shook his head.

This was good, Nina told herself, it was good Erik didn't remember kissing her. It would be easier to stay away from him now. Yes, this was good, but Nina couldn't help but feel a prick of tears gloss over her eyes. She was being stupid, she knew, but a little sense of unhappiness overtook her when the man she had given her first kiss to did not remember the encounter.

Wiping her tears away, Nina turned her back to Erik. She needed to get away from him. His presence was starting to suffocate her and if it wasn't for the fact that she still owed him for sewing her back together again, she would have left and found some other sort of transportation.

"I did something, I know. But what? Why are you upset?" Erik put a hand on Nina's arm and she jerked it out of his grasp. "Nina. . . Nina did I hurt you? Did I do something?"

Nina wanted to say yes, you did do something. She wanted to turn around and remind Erik of what he had started last night and, frighteningly, she wanted him to do it again. But she held her tongue.

"Would you just leave me alone?" Nina walked over the exotic carpet and dark wooden floors to the door that led to the outside hallway. She turned the crystal doorknob and tried to step into the outside hallway, but a strong hand pulled her back inside the room and shut the door. Erik trapped Nina against the door by placing his arms on either side of her and she looked at him, searching for a way of defiance.

Erik was truly frightened he had done her some great injustice. He was capable of worse horrors than murder, he knew, and he could have inflicted monstrous acts on a woman., especially with the. . . inappropriate feelings he had experienced the night before.

"Why are you answering my questions with questions?"

". . . Am I?" Nina replied dryly, and she felt the left corner of her mouth crook up though Erik's face only remained slightly afflicted. He was truly worried he had done something contemptible.

His face was very close to hers and she could clearly see the artificiality of his mask against his natural skin.

Slipping under his arm, Nina walked to the side of the room and stood beside a fine Chinese tapestry, her arms crossed over her stomach as if she was agitated in some way, and the skirts of her violet dress shifted as she converged her weight from one leg to the other.

"You spoke about a woman. A beautiful woman, you said. Wonderful." Erik watched as she dug her fingers into her forearms and looked away to the ground instead of looking him into the eye. "You said that she. . . that she broke your heart."

There, that was not lying, she told herself, she had simply left a few details out.

Erik felt himself take a sudden gasp of breath wen he felt the rush of Christine's rejection all over again. He had forgotten, if only for a moment when he was troubled about his actions towards Nina. Forgotten, he told himself, you were too preoccupied with some girl you barely know and you forgot about Christine. Christine, who had probably by now left her angel of music in a past filled with nightmares and was now probably spending time with her lovely _Raoul._

Erik turned his attention back to Nina and he was shocked to see her in such an abnormal state for the wild rose. Her eyes were blank, watching him emptily through almost lifeless eyes, and she sunk onto the floor and buried her face into her hands. A minute passed, maybe several, and Nina sighed before letting her hands drop away from her face. Erik's footsteps against the hard wood floors fell upon her ears softly as he made his way over to her to help her stand up, but she refused his assistance and laid down against the floor, her knees bent at strange angles, her ebony hair spilling out like black ink against a writing desk.

Feeling a little strange, Erik arranged himself beside her and stared at the high french ceiling.

"Are you ill?" Erik asked hesitantly, taking hold of one of her small hands in his own, wanting to comfort her in some way. Before answering, Nina interlaced her fingers with Erik's and she decided that their hands fit well. He had strange hands, they were thin as the rest of him but his nimble fingers possessed dexterity with each twitch they made against her own.

"No," She said with a slight shake of her head. "You simply remind me of myself."

So she was struck with their likenesses as well? Peculiar, Erik thought. Maybe God had driven them together for a reason. Perhaps they two were destined to combine their likenesses in some great destiny.

"Tell me. . . tell me about yourself, Saturnina?" He had used her real name? Nobody ever used her real name, not in its entirety at least. Her mother had only ever used it when she was cross with her.

Nina's grip on Erik's hand became stronger and he felt a strong urge to shake her hand away from his, lack of previous human contact was the source he was sure, but he refrained, thinking it to be too rude.

"Myself? You would like to know about me?" She smirked bitterly and Erik decided to let go of her hand, receiving a hidden sigh of anguish. "Only if you tell me about _your_self."

Nina shifted to her side to look at Erik more closely and he was suddenly very nervous, remembering his. . . _male_ feelings he had experienced the night before. The same ambiance came to him again and he reiteratively felt like a teenager.

"_I_ am a bastard product of adultery. My father was a rich Englishman, my mother his maid." Nina said bitterly, though she flashed the same grin he had feared previously, not waiting for Erik to give a reply. "What about yourself?"

Nina didn't expect Erik to answer her, so when she did she was slightly surprised.

"My father died before I was born." Erik said calmly and she instantly felt guilty. There she went again, dumping her problems on other people only to have them own troubles of their own. "And my face is simply one that a mother cannot love."

"She was cruel to you?"

"I suppose, though I think I was too young to realize the extent of it as a child." He shook his head and smiled, though his eyes remained filled with unhappiness. "She beat me, locked me in the attic, spoke so many cruel words. And yet all I wanted was her love." Erik started a little when she took hold of his hand again, but he sighed as her thumb massaged the palm of his hand in circular motions though his glove.

"Tell me something lovely now. What is your fondest memory?" Nina pressed her forehead against Erik's shoulder and closed the eyes that looked almost violet in the weak winter light filtering through the tall French windows. Had he ever been closer to a woman besides Christine, excluding the slaves in Persia? He was sure he hadn't.

"My fondest memory. . . ." He repeated. "That is easy. The night my love debuted for the first time at the Opera Populaire. She was glorious, fantastic, heavenly," He paused. "It is. . . indescribable."

Nina wondered what it felt like to be in love. She had never been graced by one of Cupid's arrows, and she knew only the small fluttering of infatuation, something so much less than that great legend she had witnessed before in Victor and Emily and had heard being spoken about so many times before.

"What is yours?"

"Hmm?

"Your fondest memory?"

With closed eyes, Nina smiled and Erik copied the facial movement. She was charming.

"When I was a child my mother used to take me to a lake. I remember her taking me out to swim in the very middle even though I was afraid to be so far away from shore. She told me to calm down and she took my hand and we floated on our backs. I remember staring at the sky and my mother laughed and showed me how to see the world. How to appreciate it. And she told me that she loved me so much and I told her that I loved her so much."

"Were you very close to your mother?"

"No. But that's what makes that memory so special. We were two sides of the same coin I think, complete opposites yet completely the same."

Erik brushed his hand across Nina's stomach where she had been stabbed and she flinched slightly, though she still didn't open her eyes.

"He hurt you often, that man."

"That is what sadists do."

A man had inflicted pain on her for pleasure. Erik let this thought think in and he suddenly felt like snapping a neck or two. Nina may have come off as strange, maybe even a little mad, but she of all people seemed least likely to deserve pain. Certainly this girl who noticed the beauty in everything and who spoke kindly to monsters and held demons to her chest while singing did not deserve pain. Surely she did not deserve a knife in the stomach.

This disturbing new fact and his still present hangover that seemed to be giving him an ever growing headache. The short strings of his temper frayed and snapped and he really did want to bring some justice forward for Nina.

"The man who hurt you. . . what was his name?"

Erik's voice dripped with rage and Nina felt her stomach sink when she caught her first glimpse of the side of him that spoke murderer. Opening her eyes she sat up and looked at Erik who remained lying on the ground, looking up at her. His eyes had changed. The calm knowledge that had possessed his eyes previously had been replaced with a dark acrimony, and the gold irises burned so fiercely they seemed to char a whole directly into her soul.

"His name?" Repeated Erik, squeezing Nina's hand so hard she was sure the vice grip would leave her hand painted with purple and yellow flowers. Desperately, she tried to pull her hand away from his but he would not relinquish his steady grasp of her.

"Lord Armand de Rousseau." The words tumbled out of Nina's mouth in a whisper and Erik surrendered her hand.

"I swear if I ever come across this man I will make him wish he had never met you."

"You've become attached to me, have you?" Erik didn't answer but the ignition of aggression in his eyes had vanished, which had met Nina's main goal to calm him down. "I don't think I've ever some across a man so protective of someone they've only known for a few days."

Erik sat up and brushed his shirt off to retain some sort of dignity, though he could not contain the hint of blood that colored his unmasked cheek.

"It the duty of a gentleman to oversee the welfare of a beautiful woman such as yourself."

Nina felt her stomach twist and her own face begin to flush and Erik started to laugh, throwing his head back and letting out deep, melodious peals.

"Do not worry, _Rosette, _whatever love I have ever possessed for someone has been stolen by an angel."

"You may think that now, but your heart will change when you find another woman who will return your love."

He laughed again, though it was not the entertained one he had shared with Nina only moments before, it sent a pungent chill down her spine and she received another hint of madness from the man seated on the hard wood floor beside her.

"My own mother couldn't find it in her heart to love me. Do you think any other woman could?"

Nina stared at him sternly without blinking, the only movement the steady rise and fall of her dark skinned chest beneath the violet taffeta gown.

"Who knows," She said sharply. "Our world is changing." She laughed, copying his bitter attitude. "The Bohemians are taking over." She flashed him a grin and laid back down against the floor, propping her head on her hand and placing the other on her hip. To Erik, she was a true likeness to the gypsy Carmen.

"Oh, really," Erik folded his legs to face her and placed a gloved hand over her cheek, and leaned his thin face near her round one. "And are you yourself a Bohemian?" He scowled. "If I touched you, would you not be frightened knowing the blood that stains my hands? Or. . ." His lips curled into a malevolent smile, and he placed his other hand against her other cheek. He gained the desired affect when a small noise emanated from her soft palate. "If I kissed you, would you not be revolted, knowing the scars I bear?"

"Let me see your face." There was no inflection in Nina's voice to discuss a question and Erik felt his posture stiffen.

"No." He answered plainly. Almost involuntarily, Erik felt himself stand and walk away from her, straightening his tie. He sat on the finely upholstered settee and watched Nina, finding comfort in distance after being so close to her previously.

"Why not?" Nina remained in the same position, watching Erik through liquid blue eyes. "Do you think I would scream? Perhaps faint?" Her eyes glistened over with a sheen of anger. "Be sick."

Erik arched his eyebrows and looked up at the high ceiling for a moment, as if considering sarcastically.

"Yes." He said with a sneer.

"I don't know if you have noticed," She said casually. "But I am not quite the average imbecilic woman who seem to be so common these days. Maybe I am a Bohemian."

"You- you would think differently of me." He stammered.

"I don't think a face would change my feelings towards you." Nina said softly.

Erik thought vaguely that her words implied some sort of infatuation and he felt a sense of annoyance. Now God had sent someone so interested in him? The only others he could think of were the ballet brats spread hauntingly sexual rumors about him in their sinful desire for a villain. And then again they had only been bratty ballet girls.

"I know what it feels like to be judged by the quality of one's skin. Not many Parisians favor a dark complexion."

"Do not try to compare yourself to me!" He commanded, crossing his arms. She mimicked his action and and met his stern glare, and yet Erik felt his own falter.

Like some demigod child of Aphrodite, Nina had the powers of persuasion in her eyes. She was the kind of person to stubborn to back down on something, even if that something was seeing a monster's face.

"Come now, stop with your games," Erik said sternly. "Pack your things. We need to leave as soon as possible if you ever want to get to England."

* * *

><p><strong>A late update I know, please don't spear me! When I started this story I had gotten the idea in my head that I would be updating every five days on the dot. Well, so much for that idea, but at least I have a perfectly good excuse for this late update:<strong>

**Me: "There are brownies on the counter. My roommate must have made them."  
><strong>

**My pancreas: "You can't eat brownies, stupid woman! I'll go suicidal again!"  
><strong>

**Me: "I suppose you're right."  
><strong>

**Stomach: "But. . . but brownies."  
><strong>

**Me: "I can't afford to get sick again. I have too much stuff to do."  
><strong>

**Stomach: "BUT. BROWNIES."  
><strong>

**So all in all I've spent the last few days sleeping and watching Disney movies while my pancreas was flipping out. So I apologize.  
><strong>

**I LOVE YOU GUYS THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR REVIEWING, ALERTING, AND FAVORING OR EVEN READING THIS TRAIN WRECK! I'LL SEND YOU ALL IMAGINARY BROWNIES WITH MY MIND POWERS!  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

Erik watched while Nina slept soundly in the taxi that was hurriedly making its way to Calais. They hadn't spoken since he had told her to pack her bags in the main room of the hotel suite and he sensed that she was angry with him for avoiding showing her his face, though he had no idea why. She really had had no right to see his face in the first place.

Nina was still wearing the same violet gown she had worn before they had left the hotel earlier in the day and she had tucked her legs under her heavy skirts before falling asleep in the seat across from him, her head resting against the side door of the carriage, a curtain of black hair hiding her face from him like a mask.

Erik shifted uncomfortably in his seat and narrowed his eyes at Nina, almost suspicious of her innocent behavior. Her throat was exposed and he watched the dark skin move fluidly with each breath she took. He was also surprised to see the presence of a corset around her waist. It accentuated her endowments even more and he felt slightly aroused, though the feeling was only physical. If he made love to anyone, he was sure he would only imagine it was with his Christine.

What would his angel think of him now, beside a Spanish beauty sleeping peacefully in his presence? Erik wondered if she would be jealous. He had witnessed an envious spark in her a few times before at the opera house when the ballet brats spoke of either him or the boy. When she had become irritated with the brats sensual talks of the Opera Ghost, he had been utterly amused with her attitude, but now he was sure he would only feel a sick sense of satisfaction. She had hurt him, and he was sure seeing her precious _Angel _with another woman would cause her pain.

Erik splayed the papers he had taken from his suitcase on the seat beside him and began to write. He would need forged documents for passage from Calais to Dover, especially since he was traveling with a woman he had no relation to.

Writing out his name, Erik stumbled upon a question. If he and Nina were to be supposedly related, it would make sense that they shared the same last name. He had had many different last names for may different aliases in his life, so he was unsure of which one to use. His parents' surname had been Mulheim, but he had abandoned that title long ago. He had often used many other names when he had had to, but he was not sure how Nina would take to seeing herself stitched with one of his fake names.

She had called herself Ward, so he decided to scrawl that beside his name and did the same with Nina's required documents.

Working on her papers, Erik fell onto another question. He was not sure how old Nina was. She looked to be somewhere around Christine's age but he would rather not guess this. Woman could be so peculiar about things like that sometimes.

"Nina," He whispered in a sing-song voice, gently prodding her shoulder. "Nina, you must wake for a moment."

Brushing Erik's hand away from her, Nina made a noise to show that she was awake.

"Nina, what is your current age?"

"Ten and six years," She replied, brushing the hair out of her face so that she could see Erik's furrowed brow clearly.

"Surely you must be older?" Surely she had to be. Christine herself looked younger than Nina and she was at ten and nine years. "You look so much more. . ." He paused, searching for a word that would not offend her. "Mature." He decided.

"The tribulations of a working woman's life." Nina said with a grin, straightening her posture with a small groan, she held a hand to her head when she felt the lightness there. "Why must you know anyways?" A malevolent grin curled her lips. "Does it change your feelings towards me?" She asked innocently, repeating herself from their previous escapade from the hotel in Beauvais.

"Of course not." He snapped, strangely irritated by her grin. "I needed to know for these."

Erik handed her the papers ranging from birth certificates to passports he had been working on and Nina surveyed them carefully.

"Why Erik, I'm flattered," She said flatly. "You seem to have borrowed my surname." She handed him back the papers and leaned her head against the back of the leather seat, closing her eyes while doing so.

"I hope you don't mind." Said Erik quietly, folding his hands. "It would be easier to travel if we had some persona of relations and-"

"I don't mind. It's not my last name anyhow. Just the one of the orphanage I was taken to after my mother died."

She had lived at an orphanage despite her father's supposed riches? She really was a true working woman. Maybe that was why she had acted so differently from the pampered, high class woman he was used to. She had been more exposed through out her life to those who were different, the lower classes having not sneered as often at the abnormalities of true people, compared to the rich snuffing out anything strange they saw in a child.

"I see. I sympathize your loss." Erik said quietly.

"We were not close, remember strange man?"

"Neither was I, but I still felt a sense of remorse at my mother's death." Erik answered quietly and hid himself by returning to the illegal documents, missing Nina's scowl.

Feeling something pressing into her skin uncomfortably, Nina reached into her bodice and pulled out a long string of freshwater pearls threaded into a fine necklace.

"Oh, yes. I'd almost forgotten." Nina took the necklace and looped it around Erik's neck and he looked at her confusedly. It was still warm from being next to her flesh and he felt embarrassed to be in contact with something that had been in contact with the flesh of her breasts.

"Why?" Erik said slowly, twisting the beads in his hand while giving a slight shake of the head.

With closed eyes, Nina grinned and gesticulated ceremoniously. "Think of it as a thank you present." She declared.

"You have nothing to thank me for. As I said it is the duty of a gentleman to oversee the well being of a lady. And besides what use would I have for jewelry?"

"Sell it if you want, whatever suits you, _and," _Pausing she leaned forward in her seat slightly to look up at Erik more clearly, her raven locks draping over her shoulders. "Who told you I am not capable of taking care of myself?" Said Nina, slightly irritated. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but Erik would not leave her be.

"As I recall," He said sharply, twisting the beads around his hand even tighter. "The first time I made your acquaintance you were nearly on deaths door."

"That is- I- I don't," Nina sat up straight in her seat in the back of the taxi and crossed her arms over her chest. "That has never happened to me before." She stated lamely. "I have always watched out for myself perfectly well."

Erik crossed his thin legs and looked at her through amused eyes, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. The white pearls tangled themselves between his fingers, making soft clicking sounds when they collided and Nina felt herself drawn to those faint sounds.

"And yet you let yourself become involved with a sadist, _strange girl._" An air of pretension laced Erik's words and Nina frowned.

"Well, I'm sure that I will have no similar problems soon." She said plainly, narrowing her eyes and copying Erik's aristocratic tone.

"Why is that?" Erik asked, suddenly losing his tone of arrogance.

"I have decided to spend the remainder of my life devoting myself to the will of God." Nina smiled and Erik gave an involuntary flinch. "There is a convent I know of in London," She said sheepishly. "I can think of no other place to go. It is not how I imagined I would be spending my life but. . . I know that there, I will be able to help people."

At her vow of celibacy, Erik felt a small feeling of relief. If the girl became taken to him, she would not express her feelings and he would not act on any urges.

"And what of your friends in London?"

"Ah, you see Victor and Emily, my friends, they have many problems of their own right now. I don't want to give them more trouble by imposing."

Erik thought this over and glanced out of the carriage window. They were passing some small village and Erik pulled back the small black curtain that covered the window to block out the sad scenery.

"I have an estate in London," Nina looked at him carefully and Erik sat up straighter and folded his hands together, suddenly finding interest in his hands. "I would gladly offer you a place if you are truly in need of one."

His eyes strayed away from hers and Nina felt a cough rising in her throat.

"No, you have already done so much for me I couldn't possibly-"

"Please, Nina," Erik took Nina's hand in his own and smiled. "Let me do every kind thing I can for you."

Nina huffed and laid her head against the door of the carriage again to hide her worried look. Was he perhaps. . . courting her? She was being courted by a murderer. Good God, what would Emily say if she saw her in this position?

Nina glanced at Erik and felt like she was seeing a ghost from the past. Here was Erik sitting in front of her, and there was Rousseau in her memory, leaning against the balcony railway showing her a broad smile filled with what had appeared to be love, while the moon glared above him. Their faces melted into each others and Nina raised her hands to her temple, cursing her slightly unhinged mind. She tried to think of the exact day she had started to go mad and only recalled the endless hell that was her life living with Rousseau. It seemed now that all the days wasted there dispersed into each other in one never ending affliction.

"I will think of it."

Closing her eyes, Nina was asleep again within moments and Erik watched, amused at her mad behavior that was not too unlike his own.

Erik returned to the illegal documents and pondered his plans for London. Suicide, he reminded himself. How though, he hadn't thought. Poison seemed like the cleanest option. Something that would draw out the last hours of his death painfully slow yet still let him retain some sort of dignity. He wouldn't be found in a pool of frigid life with empty veins, nor would he drown himself. Pain he wanted pain, he would want his last hours vividly clear, and nobody remembered anything better than pain and a good poison could make life seem more vivid than any previous life he had felt.

_"Your life is a gift, you know. A gift from God. It's a sin to throw away that gift. I've seen people give anything they have for a mere moments more escape from death."_

Nina's words echoed in Erik's head and he sighed. She had a point he supposed, but he really had no more point in living if he could not be with Christine. Sure, he was capable of outstanding services to music, but his muse was lost to him now. She was somewhere in Paris planning a wedding with some fop.

Without Christine, he would never be able to form another masterpiece. Erik heard the ever flowing symphony still, but it was nothing but emptiness now. Surely Christine had stolen more than his heart. Perhaps she had abducted his soul as well. And soon she would take his life as well.

Silently, Erik watched Nina and resisted a strong desire to touch her face. Doubt of his future plans began to creep into his mind and Erik's hand suddenly found itself covering his mouth, as it often did when he was troubled.

What the hell had this girl done to him? It had taken years to develop romantic feelings for Christine, and now here was this small feeling pf warmth somewhere deep in his blackened heart, as if she had cast some siren's spell on him.

"Nina?" He whispered softly, taking care not to trouble her if she was deeply asleep.

"Hmm?" Nina replied, refusing to move a muscle as she was still curled up against the side of the carriage.

"Je t'adore, mon Rosette."

Nina, in her doze, did not reply and Erik watched her calmly, his hand subconsciously scribbling away at his papers.

He would watch over her, guide her in the proper directions and make sure she was happy and well cared for, but Erik would never involve himself with Nina romantically. He would do everything in his power to ensure her well being and jubilation. His small feeling would ensure that at the very least. And if anyone tried to harm her he would rip out their vocal chords and strangle them with said vocal chords.

But Erik's would not allow himself to develop any sort of strong emotional feeling while she was under his care.

Sighing, Erik vaguely remembered telling himself the same thing when he had first taken Christine under his tutelage.

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><p><strong>A short chapter, I know, I<strong> **know. **

**Wow I must really thank you for your wonderful reviews, RedDeathLvr. As a special thanks here is a smile for you! (((~o・ω・) ~*  
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**Thank you other readers as well! And please do not be afraid to review, my writing is fueled on criticism. (This is my way of begging, I'm just too stubborn to come out and say it).  
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	8. Chapter 8

"We've hit a storm, 'm afraid. This is as far as I'll be able to take you tonight, sir."

The taxi driver poked his head in through the carriage door and began to speak. Erik nodded and watched Nina wistfully. Still asleep of course.

Stowing the pearls Nina had given him beneath the collar of his shirt, Erik shook her gently and she awoke with a start, her shoulders jumping upwards and her hands pushing him away in some involuntarily reflex.

"Oh," She sighed. It was only Erik. She had been dreaming of some terror but now she could not quite remember what. "Have we arrived in Calais so soon?" She said softly, twisting her newly disarrayed hair in her hands in some small battle she refused to lose.

"No. The weathers too bad for the carriage. We'll be staying here for the night."

Nina nodded in comprehension and Erik stepped out of the carriage before taking her hand and helping her out as well, immediately drawing the collar of his jet frock coat above his head to shield his mask from spiraling torrent of the sky's tears and the whip and howl of the harsh winter's wind. It was a sensitive material, easily damaged, repaired with difficulty, and he really had no risks at all to take right now. If he was found, it would be the public death penalty for him and he would prefer to die with as much modesty and mystery as possible.

Let the rumors of the transcendental Opera Ghost live on, he thought to himself. There lied Erik's immortality. In the minds of the superstitious Parisians would he live forever, haunting their gossip even when his last breath shuddered and escaped his lungs.

Whenever that happened to happen.

"There is an inn, miseour. Just there." The taxi driver pointed in front of himself towards a small, grubby looking thing lit with candles on the windowsills. The sky, though completely cottoned over with storm clouds, betrayed the hidden night sky here and there, giving a small glimpse of a star every now and then amongst the heavens, similar to the small candles in the window of the inn. It was not much, but it would have to suffice for the Phantom and his lady friend, as there appeared to be no better suited place.

"I'll just help you and your lady with your luggage before taking the carriage over to that barn there." The boy pointed with his thumb behind his shoulder to a run down looking building far behind him and smiled broadly before retrieving both Erik's and Nina's travel cases from the storage compartment of the taxi. Hobbling past them eagerly, the boy led Nina and Erik into the small inn and set their bags down.

"Tend to your horses and come back here before catching your death in that rain, boy."

"Oh no, miseour I haven't the money-"

"I'll buy your room," Erik replied calmly. "Now go and care for your horses."

The carriage boy murmured a thanks and turned and left through the inn door, a bell jingling slightly against the door jamb.

A rail thin maid stood up from tending a small fire hidden behind an ash strewn hearth and looked up at the two of them tiredly. As the maid watched them a man with graying hair and a limp sauntered in through a door to her right and she quickly melted herself into the shadowy places that the dim ember life of the fire did not reach, hiding herself there cat like, as if the darkness offered some sort of protection to her.

Watching her, Erik knew there was something off in her eyes. They were completely empty, unreflecting, and all emotion was lost. She was a true Jondrette girl. Erik had seen eyes like her's before, but he struggled to remember where. He had seemed to be struggling to remember a lot of things lately, especially since he and Christine had begun to grow apart. She was all he could think of.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter. She's a bit shy." The man explained, gesturing to her refuge in the unlit piece of room and casting her a bitter glare. "Can I help you, sir?" The man asked, and Nina felt his eyes rake over her body, lingering over her chest and hips. He gave her a grin, showing off yellowed teeth stained with tobacco and he winked at her. She gave him a disgusted look and crossed her arms over her chest before stepping closer to Erik and shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Ah, yes a room for the coach boy and. . . ." Erik paused and noticed the man's attention to Nina. Subconsciously, he felt his arm wrap itself around her waist protectively, leaving a hand lingering on her hip. "And a room for my wife and I." He finished, feeling Nina twitch beneath his touch.

The man nodded and limped over to them to retrieve their bags before gesturing them over to a staircase.

Erik led Nina to their room in the upstairs of the small inn, his hand still on her waist. As soon as they were shut safely inside the small, dark room Nina stepped away from him quickly and crossed her arms over her chest again and Erik felt suddenly fearful of her scorn.

"Could I not have perhaps been your sister, husband?" She whispered sharply in case of prying ears, her voice cutting through the cold air like a knife.

"That man was staring at you like you were a piece of meat, wife." Erik stated, defending himself.

"I thought I told you I could take care of myself." She snapped, jabbing a finger in his chest.

"And if that man drugged you and had his way with you while you were sleeping?" Erik gripped Nina's wrist in his hand and she raised her chin defiantly. "You underestimate the will of some men. We do not all stand by idly when there is a vulnerable woman in nothing but a white robe in our presence. And besides there is something not quite right about his daughter. She looked just about ready to fly away."

Nina's harsh gaze dampened, being replaced by a slight sense of alarm when Erik mentioned her laying back on the settee after her bath at the hotel. Or perhaps he was referring to the occasion that had taken place later in the night when he had kissed her. She shivered to remember his lips against her's and she took a step away from Erik.

"You realize that they've given us a room with only one bed?" She retorted, gesturing to the pallet in the center of the small room.

"I hadn't thought about that," Erik said slowly, raising a hand to the back of his head and ruffling his false jet hair. "You take it I can sleep on the floor."

"No, I couldn't possibly. Especially since _you're_ the one paying for the rooms. I'll sleep on the floor."

"_You_ cannot possibly expect me to let a lady sleep on the floor of some inn."

"I slept on the floor many times at the orphanage I lived at _before _I was what _you _call a lady."

Nina sat on the floor and pressed the palms of her hands against the cold bare floor in some attempt to show Erik she was not some flower. She watched him as he rocked back against the heels of his feet and his golden eyes glimmered in the darkness like two twin stars.

"Fine then." He said simply walking over to the thickly covered queen sized bed and lying down comfortably, folding his arms beneath his head. "How relaxing it is. Come, won;t you join me?" He said casually, patting the spot beside him.

"I'm sorry sir," Nina feigned, equally as casual, sticking her face up in the air pompously. "But I have trouble underestimating the will of some men. And beside, I am a _lady _and ladies do not lay beside men unless that man be their husband."

"Ah, but I am your husband, don't you remember, wife? And ladies do not sleep on the floor."

Nina found that she could give Erik no clever reply and he laughed at her lack of words before standing up and striding towards her. He offered her a hand and Nina stood up before him, suddenly feeling very close. She found immediately that he smelled greatly of lilacs and other garden flowers and Nina felt herself inhaling that scent, her hands raising up to touch the front of Erik's chest. She remembered kissing him, remembered the small, happy noises he had made when she had touched his face.

Amidst this moment of calm, Nina suddenly felt the world turned upside down, or rather herself turned upside down, and she was suddenly aware that Erik had picked her up roughly and dropped her down on the cotton comforters of the bed. Placing his hands against her forearms and pinning her legs useless between his knees, Erik held Nina down and smirked down at her evilly.

"Now stay." He commanded.

Despite Erik's catlike behavior, Nina found him very dog like. Yes, he was like a large dog who loved to play but did not know when his play got too rough and he had to stop.

Erik's trap lessened, and Nina took the opportunity to slip her arms fro his grasp and shove him roughly in the chest away from her so that he flipped onto his back and she sat on his stomach, her knees resting beside his arms, her large skirts covering much of his chest and face from her view. Laughing, Erik pushed the skirts from his face and Nina copied his cachinnate.

"God help me, I'm in bed with a madman!" She said between a reciprocity of laughing and trying to breath.

Erik laughed harder, and Nina slid her legs down beside Erik's so that she lay on top of him, the side of her face resting against his, their chests rising and falling against each others.

"It's strange how much this mask has given me," Erik said softly, his attention turned to the ceiling, touching the right side of his face gently, a grin still staining his face, though some form of joy disappeared from his eyes. "I feel as if I am in a dream. People look at me like a normal man, I am treated like a normal man, and I have made such an acquaintance with you. I feel like there is no way this is possible, like any moment I'll wake up cold, alone, broken. Return to my old empty life." He laughed. "Any moment I'll wake up and you will have been some concoction of my maddened mind, and Christine will be off somewhere with her fop and I will be in some jail cell awaiting my execution like I deserve."

"Do you really think you deserve an execution?" Nina asked curiously after a moment of silence, and Erik felt a sudden cloud of strangeness surround them, though Nina remained impervious to the condensation of atypicalness. He did not want to have this conversation with Nina, but Erik knew she would only press the topic further, or bring it up at a later time. Just like when she had wanted to see his face.

"I have murdered so many men I can't even remember all of their faces. Whenever I wrap my hands around someone's neck it just feels. . . instinctual. It feels aboriginal, almost like I am some damn predator and it is perfectly okay for me to watch a face turn purple beneath me. Like it is written perfectly clear in the laws of nature that I am allowed to kill. I am a sociopath if there ever was one. Yes, Nina, I think I deserve an execution. Something public and messy. However I'm not going to turn myself in mainly for the sake because I would prefer to die with my own preferences." Erik repeated what he had told himself earlier almost like he had rehearsed it from a script and he fought a rising pressure in his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

The girl was too close to him. Erik pushed her away from him and he pressed his forehead against hers, completely aware of her feminine scent. It was intoxicating, the smell of soap and something warm and clean.

How ironic it was, however, that Nina had escaped the arms of a sadist only to find shelter in the arms of a sociopath, she thought to herself. She really needed to work on her judge of character, though Erik did not appear to be such a villain.

"What do you think, Saturnina?" He asked rigidly, running a hand through her long black hair absentmindedly while her ocean eyes never strayed from his own. "What do you think the world should do with people like me? What should happen to us souls who have long given up propriety and morality and live mainly for the sake of living? Surely we cannot be aloud to live, we will only kill again. I will kill again if I am left to life."

Nina sighed and gently whispered Erik's name. She felt old suddenly. Too old, like somehow she had spontaneously aged several decades, and her tired eyes reflected this to Erik.

"Erik," She repeated. "Say a man kills another man, and society sentences him to death for his murder." She paused and licked her lips before continuing. "I don't really see how his execution is any different than his own actions. Killing another human being. . . it is all the same no matter who does it or how or why. Murder is murder."

Erik was silent, trying to piece this together into his head and trying to connect himself in her words. So what did she think of him, since he was a murderer?

"And," Nina added quietly, in a bitter mutter. "There are many things much worse the death."

Before Erik could ponder her words, Nina clapped a hand to the upper right quadrant of her abdomen and took an acuminous inhale of breath.

Slowly, and without her permission, Erik unbuttoned the front of Nina's dress, silently thankful that she had worn one that unbuttoned in the front instead of the back, and unclasped her white shift before examining her wound. The area around the lesion was red, not infected, but enough to cause a substantial amount of pain. He wouldn't take the stitches out yet, however. Her skin had not yet begun to mend back together properly.

"You should take a bath and clean it out. I'll tell the maid to warm some water." Erik stood and straightened his ebony cravat before walking neatly to the door. "The bed is big enough for two people, as well. Since I obviously have no reprobate intentions towards you, it would be sensible to share it." He looked back at Nina stiffly, looking for a sign of approval before exiting and she nodded while simultaneously re-buttoning the front of her violet gown.

Obviously he had no reprobate intentions, Erik repeated to himself.

Obviously.

_Obviously._

Erik shut the presumably once fine door behind him and cracked his neck before slowly descending the weathered wooden stairs.

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><p><strong>Another short chapter and a hella long author's note, I know, and I apologize. I had a gig this weekend that I had to travel for and I got quite sun burnt while there and I have been completely exhausted since my performance.<strong>

**I have tried writing as much as possible but for some damn reason I agreed to carpool with two trombone players, a bassoon, and a super attractive bass clarinetist who I maybe fancy just a little bit. Just a _little_ bit. So I did not have a lot of privacy to write the past few weeks. However, Miseour Bass Clarinetist gave my muse a couple of good ideas, even though he and a tenor sax got into some gay stuff with a jar of Nutella 0_0. All night I heard "Tom, stop! Tom, stop!" and a lot of boyish giggling, since they had the room next to mine.  
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**Ohh, I know too much information as always.  
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**But anyways, it still takes some time for me to write, since I want to give my writing as much depth and personal views as possible.**

**It is 4:30 in the morning where I am and I am listening to the song Hotel California which frankly makes me space out quite a bit.  
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**I hope you enjoy this chapter, I love you all! Please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

Erik sat before the fireplace of the inn, sinking back into the shabby leather armchair ad staring into the swirling red and orange river that whispered against the shadows that held their presence over the main room of the inn.

He could hear the gray haired inn man shuffling behind him, moving objects or cleaning or something of that sort, and the coach boy sat silently in the chair opposite him, staring into the fire as well. Perhaps dealing with demons of his own.

"So, Moniseour, where do you come from?" Asked the man, in a common accent of the lower rank, though Erik held no prejudice for the man, only distaste for his rude manner towards his female companion previously. He was utterly disgusted by the man's open ogling of the girl, and this was why a sneer followed Erik's reply.

"I don't see why it concerns you." He said plainly, observing his gloved hands thoughtfully before the fire. They looked perfect in comparison to the rest of his body, those hands that had played both the enchantments of a violin and the mangled cries of fools that had found themselves in his way. How much hands could do. Especially the hands of a miscreation.

Perfect. Miscreated. Hands.

"Just askin', sir," The man answered from behind him. Erik thought that maybe he was sweeping the bare wooden floors. "Got to protect mine own, you see. 'Cause haven't you heard of that mutant who wot destroyed that theater house down in Paris and raped that little girl before killin' her fiance? Can't have him creepin' in here, now can we? Not with a girl of me own to look after. And a right trouble she is too."

Erik clenched his hands slowly at the man's testament of his actions. Rumors, he told himself. Things would always exaggerate themselves one way or another. However, Erik still felt a burning prick of animosity at the public's gross overstatement of his immoral deeds.

"Heard about him too. Best be on the look out as well. Hear there's a reward on his head." Added the boy, suddenly snapping back to Earth.

"Indeed," He muttered, still examining his hands, almost like one examining some piece of filth. "A right trouble, you say?" Erik added, a note of curiosity coloring his harmonious inflection.

"Yes, I'm afraid," Replied the inn man. "Has never been quite right. Especially lately since that beau o' hers got himself dispatched in some bar quarrel. She's gone a bit batty I'm afraid. Found her the other day just staring at nothing. She's gone, sir. A complete ghost."

"A complete ghost. . . ." Erik murmured. He clenched and unclenched his hand and marveled at the simple movement. He thought he heard a women laugh above his head.

"Like I said. And she'll probably never be married neither. No man has taken a looking at her in quite some time. And that's a true misfortune 'cause I don't know if I'll be able to support her for much longer. What a burden she'll be in the coming years." The man grumbled and Erik inwardly sighed. There were people everywhere who just couldn't see their own luck at having some normalcy. Erik would never have a family. He would never have a wife or children or friends and he hated the thought.

Ever since he was a boy he had wanted a normal life. A wife that he would entertain, children he would teach, even a dream of friends perhaps. Friends whom he could confide in, ask for advice in troublesome times, and give advice to in gloomy times of their own. But he would never have that now. He had hoped for some time that Cristine would be able to grant him at least a fraction of this, but that curse released from Pandora's box was gone now, stolen by a fair faced Viscount with hopes of his own.

The said girl was now presently upstairs with the other girl, helping her bathe, and Erik dreaded any confrontation. Thinking about women now, he found some sort of antipathy towards the female species. They were the reason he was in this mess. They were the reason he was in all of his messes. Why, if he had never stumbled upon Christine lamenting her heart's sorrow in the Opera house chapel, he would probably be lounging around his lair, composing or overseeing the run of his theater or even perhaps just simply reading a book by candlelight.

Why, he even felt some small aversion towards Nina. Erik knew he was being ridiculous feeling what he felt, she really had done nothing cruel towards him yet, but she was still a woman, and woman meant trouble wherever he went. His mother, the Khanum, even his Christine. They had all caused him grievances in some way or another, and who was to say that the Spanish rose would be any different?

In his peripheral vision where the daunting narrowness of the staircase stood, Erik saw the inn girl descend the steep contraption, her bare feet making soft noises against the wood, and she avoided looking at him.

"The madame is asleep now, Miseour." She said timidly, in a voice much clearer than her father's. Without looking directly at her, Erik nodded, copying her own indirect behavior. Erik noticed, however, that the coach boy looked at her intently and she herself returned his full gaze.

Peculiar, he thought.

"I think I'll be going to bed." Said the boy, not taking his eyes off of the maid. He stood and brushed past her up the stairs and her eyes followed him upwards.

"The wash is all hanging, father. May I go to bed as well?"

The inn man grunted and the girl must have taken this as a yes, as she swept back up the stairs tiredly. Erik watched her form retreat, reminded of an old mule, who had been broken a long time ago.

"Boy comes often." Stated the gray haired man, replacing the coach boy in the cracked leather arm chair opposite Erik. "He's a good boy. Brings customers where they're needed."

"I think you may have been wrong in thinking no man has paid attention to your daughter." Erik commented, feeling exceptionally social.

In reply, the inn man only shook his head and lit a battered pipe before sitting back ungracefully.

"She's a pretty thing, your wife. Quite the treat, I must say." He said absently, taking a long drag on his black pipe and running a hand through his receding hair. "Been married long?" He asked casually, and Erik shook his head.

"Just a few days, actually." He invented for no apparent reason. He was bored, why not have a little fun?

"Ah, but that must mean you're on your honey moon, miseour." The man gave Erik an evil grin. "So tell me why you're sittin' down here with my lonely old soul when you could be upstairs havin' a bit o' fun with your wife?"

Erik masked his disgust at the mention of sexual relations. He was certainly not used to the impropriety of the lower classes.

Turning a quick grimace into a dark grin, Erik replied, "The pretty little thing, as you say. . . I exhausted her." He said, pretending to be a man like the one in front of him so as not to arouse suspicion.

In response, he was rewarded with a wheezy laugh from the man and Erik stood up suddenly, brushing off his already spotless pitch clothes. Habits never died for him.

"Actually, I think I will be retiring." He had had just about enough with the man.

"Well, in that case, messieur," The man drawled. "Feel free to have as much fun as you like. We won't mind a noise, at least not in this storm!"

Erik gave a brief smile at the man that turned into a sneer as soon as his back was turned from the old man with the disgusting teeth and he was stepping up the degenerating stairs.

When Erik was at the room he and Nina were supposed to share, he paused at the door and slumped forward slightly so that his forehead rested against the cold, damp wood.

What had happened to him? Not even a week had passed since he was away from Christine and he would be sleeping with another woman. Well not _sleeping __with _sleeping with, he told himself. Just sharing a bed, that was all. Just sharing a bed with an almost stranger.

An almost child at that. Erik felt disgusted with himself. He felt sexual attraction towards a child, a little girl. He was no better than those disgusting men who hoarded their _special _consorts to have their way with whenever they pleased.

How loyal he was, he thought to himself quietly. Women love men who share a bed with other women.

He wondered what Christine would think of his actions.

He wondered if she thought of him at all.

Erik sighed and stepped into the room like a specter, his movements fluid as if he was floating, and he found Nina watching him with an anomalous expression on her face. For a fraction of a second her eyes narrowed and she sat up slightly. Erik almost laughed as he closed the door behind him.

"I may be a murderer, but I am certainly no Lothario." He explained with a bitter expression. "In case you haven't suspected, my face has lost me many things, including me self worth."

"You won't hurt me?" She asked, her voice betraying a slight tremor of fear.

"I would not dream of laying a hand on a girl like yourself, _Doux_ _Rosette_. I simply do not deserve the honor. Not after what I've done. And besides, if I ever developed some sort of relationship with a women, even a short, forced one, I would never be able to forgive myself. Now close your eyes so I can change shirts."

"I cannot see you anyways. I can only see your eyes." She stated, and Erik remembered that not everyone quite had his supreme ability to see in darkness.

"Why do they glow?" She inquired.

"Why do your eyes not glow?" He rivaled her, and Nina felt herself shiver at the coldness in his voice, the coldness that rivaled the chill of the dank winter air inside the room.

Sighing, Nina made a show of covering her eyes with her hands and wagged her head slightly as if reciting some limerick in her head.

Erik retrieved a night shirt from his luggage and, swiftly, managed to pull off his gloves, cravat, waist coat, and dress shirt and replace the articles with the white sleeping garment, though he kept his trousers on.

"That maid fancies you." Nina said, her eyes still covered by her hands.

". . .What?" Erik replied lamely.

" 'That husband of yours, he's quite handsome', 'Got a voice like a god, he does', 'Seems quite kind, you are lucky Madame'." Nina quoted the inn girl's words she had heard previously and she felt herself grin.

How strange, thought Erik. He had never been fancied before, except by the ballet girls of the opera with their sensual stories of the handsome opera ghost sweeping them off their feet to take them to his underground lair**.** And he rarely counted that.

"I think she fancies the coach boy." Erik replied in a curious tone.

"Maybe she just fancies everyone." Nina mused comically in a sleepy mutter.

Erik let her be since it was probably best for Nina to sleep off her wound.

Awkwardly, he slipped into the bed beside Nina and she curled up beside him. Erik went rigid when she put a hand on his arm.

"Just because we are sharing a bed does not mean you have to be so close." He whispered sharply and she moved away from him with a small apology.

In the dark, Nina's hand brushed Erik's and she yelped.

"Is that your hand?" She exclaimed, as if frightened.

About time she began to fear him, mused Erik.

"Yes, that was my hand." He said, waving said hand in front of her face.

Like a cat playing with a bauble, she caught it and held it in her own hands.

"You're freezing." Nina said exasperatedly.

It was true. Erik's hands were not clammy like a dead man's, but felt like they were carved from ice. It almost burned Nina to touch them.

"Yes, I am quite cold. It suits my personality, don't you think?" His words were jagged in the air and Erik hoped that she would leave him be. He didn't feel like making conversation right now.

Without answering him, Nina began kneading his hand between her own and Erik asked her what she thought she was doing.

"Don't worry, I used to do this for my mother all the time. She had terrible arthritis but this will make your hands warmer."

"Unhand me, strange girl." He said with a scowl.

"Please, tell me this doesn't feel great and I'll stop."

Erik saw her smile in the darkness and he was defeated. It did feel good.

"You have beautiful hands." She declared merrily and Erik had to refrain himself from groaning aloud.

"You cannot even see them!" He advocated, trying to remove his hand from her grasp and failing. His appendage felt weak at her touch, like she had stolen the strength right out of his fingers.

"No, but I can feel them."

She rose Erik's hand to her face and let it rest on her cheek. He could feel her smile.

"You're warmer now."

"Perhaps if you are not careful you will find yourself warming the rest of my body." He proposed darkly, wishing her to leave him, and he felt her falter.

"You said you would not hurt me."

"You shouldn't trust murderers, _mon Rosette. _We feel very little reason to keep our promises. Especially when women are involved. We can be quite. . . ." Erik watched her closely. She was listening to him intently and he smiled demonically. "Unpredictable."

"You intrigue me." He continued after she was silent. "You openly touch the hands that have taken lives without repulsion. You smile and speak truthfully and feel little fear. I wonder if I should show you what real fear is. You would be so surprised at how different it feels from your normal affliction. I wonder if you think I'm some sort of magical being. What is it you see when you look at me? A dark, handsome villain who you think will sweep you off your little feet and make you mine for eternity like some vampire in a novel? Do I allure you? Do I fascinate you? I think that maybe you are a bit infatuated with me, you are like the ballet brats who adored me with their stories, aching for my presence. Your eyes are filled now, filled with many things you should be feeling about me." He paused and contemplated her. "You are making one mistake Christine never made. Christine was always fearful of her angel. First afraid of his scorn, and then afraid of his temper, and then afraid of the crimes he committed. But you, you see, you are merely suspicious of me. You do not fear me, but I'm going to tell you the secret to unlock full reassurance of your safety, in whatever form."

Erik lifted his hands to her face and cradled her head in his hands, brushing the thumb of the hand that she had not warmed against the skin just above her right eyebrow and she opened her mouth slightly, as if she was going to speak. She remained silent.

"Fear is the one thing that made me release Christine from her bonds. I could not live with a wife who was in constant fear of me. I would not be able to stand it. Fear me, _mon Rosette, _and you shall never be harmed. Fear me," He slipped one hand to rest against her waist, like he was her husband and she was his new bride. "And no matter how much I desire you, you will never be subjected to the horrors of my twisted soul."

Erik was about to speak again when she interrupted him.

"Erik," She said softly. "Erik I must tell you. I have already been subjected to horrors. I know what fear is but I simply cannot feel it towards you. You are no sadist, I can tell. You will not invite me in the pleasure of breaking souls and you will not break mine. I can tell. When I look into your eyes, I can tell that you would not dream of doing that. Not to me. Under your cold exterior, you are kind and you yearn for kindness. Perhaps I will not warm your body, even if that is what you yearn for physically, but maybe I can warm your soul. Even if you are ugly, you are a benevolent man, you would not have sewn me back together again if you were not, and I know you have a benevolent soul. Perhaps I can shed you some light. No more talk of darkness, Erik. No more talk of fear or sin. Even if you are a murderer, you are still a person just like everybody else. You are not a phantom or a ghost. You are a man. A man named Erik. And you are no better or no less then everyone else. I don't fear everybody else, so I will not fear you."

"Then be prepared for even more horrors. Because everyone else is capable of them just as much as me."

"Then I will prepare myself for yours specifically."

They were both silent for a long time and Nina gazed into the intensity of Erik's burning yellow eyes.

"I may try to do horrible things, you know. And I will definitely not care at the time. I may force you to do. . . things." He shuddered. "My mind is capable of producing the worst images imaginable and I could easily make those images into reality. I might hurt you more than your sadist ever hurt you."

"I know." She answered.

And she did know. And she did not much care.

He wrapped his arms around her. They slept.

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><p><em><strong>"How strange, thought Erik. He had never been fancied before, except by the ballet girls of the opera with their sensual stories of the handsome opera ghost sweeping them off their feet to take them to his underground lair."<strong>_

**I'm talking about you authoresses. ;D  
><strong>

**Aha well, this chapter was especially hard to write, but I think I lassoed it at last. Tell me what you think.  
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**Love to you all!  
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	10. Chapter 10

Sleeping entwined in Erik's arms had been a strange experience for Nina. It was not that it had been her first time sleeping beside someone else, for she had huddled together with Emily many a cold English night at the orphanage, but the fact that he was everything she was unaccustomed to. Where Emily had been warm, soft, and familiar, Erik was a complete peculiarity. His entire being was cold against Nina's flesh, and she could feel his strength through the arms he had wrapped around her. Unnervingly, Erik did not act like a sleeping man. He betrayed no movement other than the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled and he scarcely moved even then.

Nina lay awake, lonely in her attentiveness. Perhaps his nocturnal habits had become contagious.

Vividly, she examined Erik, taking in every aspect of him. His appearance was infallible as he slept, heavy lids curtained his heavenly eyes, and his perfect lips were parted just a hairline so that she glimpsed the interior of his mouth. Nina saw with a slight fascination that his teeth were defectless, like the mouth of a man in a painting. His skin appeared glossy in the small amount of dark houred light that escaped from behind the ancient and bedraggled hangers that clung to the dusty surface of the room's windows, and not a coal black hair of his lay disturbed.

Nina felt with a strange anxiety that she was in the presence of some celestial creature: Did she quite have the right to be so near this man, a man who sang so rapturously as if to suggest he was not a man at all, but a god?

But surely something so rapturous was too good for itself. Erik's voice was something sinfully delighting, something Nina felt was forbidden to her. Maybe he was not such a god, but maybe a demon, sent by the devil to stray her on the path to goodness and morality and modesty.

Nina caught herself and remembered Erik's words. Perhaps she was infatuated with him, and perhaps she did imagine him to be some dark, handsome, villain. But maybe Erik did not understand the extent of his own words. He _was _dark and he _was _handsome and he _was _even a bit of a villain. But did that make her thoughts towards him so bad?

Erik was exactly the kind of man who Nina knew would cause nothing but trouble for her which was exactly why she felt so drawn to him.

Still watching her dark divinity, Nina cursed herself. She was hot ice, righteous sin, piano forte, creative destruction. Oh, she was a clean addict. She felt in herself a quiet revolution, a delightful affliction, a humble assertiveness all because of this black guardian of God before her. He truly was sweet sin.

He had kissed her and she was confused as to what that meant. Did he perhaps feel amorous to her somewhere deep down inside his twisted soul where only the presence of an alcoholic depressant could bring it forth? Or maybe it was just the alcohol that felt for her. She wanted to know, oh, she _needed _to know. The question was agony.

In this specially unique internal struggle, Nina physically struggled against Erik's arms completely unawares and he woke to her movement.

"What- what are you doing?" He asked her groggily, removing his arms from around her. "I shouldn't have held you, I know-" He started.

"No, no it's not that." Nina said quickly. "Actually it felt quite nice to be near someone. It was just that I couldn't sleep and I was thinking about things and I, well." She stopped speaking and sighed.

"You probably can't sleep because you've slept all day. What were you thinking about that was troubling you so?"

"Does that concern you?" Nina asked rhetorically.

"I don't know, does it?" Erik answered anyways.

She said nothing and Erik grinned like a bobcat while propping his head up against his arm. It did concern him.

"Tell me what it is." He said softly, bringing his icy hand to touch her thinly clothed shoulder. She shuddered mentally at his coolness and, as if sensing this, Erik withdrew his hand.

Nina could not tell him what was troubling her, not unless she wished to reveal the information of their forgotten kiss, and she was sure he would not want to be reminded of that simple touch of flesh.

"I cannot tell you, I am to be a nun and the only man I should devote myself to is Christ and. . . ." She continued to babble and Erik narrowed his eyes in irritation.

"What is this nonsense, girl? I'm tired, we have not all spent the day sleeping away. Now tell me what is troubling you."

Nina sighed and let loose a puff of breath so that a strand of loose raven cord jumped up from her eyes.

"Close your eyes," She whispered, remembering Erik saying the same words before he had kissed her.

Erik raised an eyebrow before doing as she requested. Nina slowly lifted a hand to Erik's face and touched the cheek of his that was unmasked. Erik had to resist the urge of withdrawing from her, he didn't like to be touched, and he only betrayed a slight flinch.

Nina felt a slight sinking feeling in her stomach and she struggled for confidence in what she was about to do. She knew that if she did not act quickly she would lose whatever nerve she had and would never remind him. Perhaps her life would have turned out incredibly different if she hadn't. So, like one jumping from a great height into a pool of water, which of course must be done without thinking about it, Nina felt her mouth jump to Erik's and she kissed him like he had kissed her before: slowly, passionately and with just a bit of ache of loneliness. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her back. He didn't.

Erik broke away from her and jumped up from the bed like a cat. His hands were raised up to his head like a man caught in the wrong and Nina felt herself flood with embarrassment.

"Have I not previously explained to you what I am capable of? Good God woman, must I show you yourself? Would you like that? Would you take pleasure against my cold flesh?"

"Erik, you kissed me first." Nina said through clenched teeth, drawing the thin covers of the bed over her chest; she felt exposed. Erik was silent and he crossed his arms over his chest. "When you were drunk. At the hotel." She elaborated, feeling a coil of heat rise in her face.

"I-I- I don't. . . ." Erik trailed off and he looked dumbfounded. He felt almost. . . molested. "I'm going to get some fresh air. Just- Just leave me be."

He stumbled out of the room after throwing a frock coat and boots over his night clothes and left Nina completely alone in the dark. Inexplicably, she felt a prick of tears glossing over he eyes. He hated her now, she was sure. She had ruined whatever small friendship they had begun to from and it was all her fault. If she could have just kept her mouth to herself she wouldn't be alone in this shitty place right now. She let a noise that was half sob and half exclamation of anger loose and gripped her hair tightly in a motion of utter distress.

Sweet sin, indeed!

* * *

><p>At the same time Nina was having her slight mental breakdown, Erik was having a bit of a panic attack.<p>

Erik had gotten outside some way, though he did not remember how, and he was quickly making his way through an open field that, at that time, were so common among the roads between Paris and Calais. He dropped onto his knees in the middle of one of these fields and stared up at the stars, cursing their Creator.

"After all this time, after all Your darkness You have never failed to bestow upon me, You now send me something worth of light? Is this Your way of compensation? Is this You asking for forgiveness after the tortures you have given me over Christine? Why now? Why. . . why now, now that I am a broken man? I am empty now, I tell You! Completely hallowed out, just as You must have wished! And now You send this girl into my bed! What for, I ask You? What! For!" Erik screamed at the heavens, shaking his fist at those saint's eyes that glittered across the sky. He shook in his ferocious anger and he felt sob after sob rising up in his mysterious throat. In the cold night air, his screams came to the surrounding established village people's ears like the screams and moans of a ghost.

"Why have You always hated me? Why have You always despised me so? You have cursed me since the moment I was born, and all for Your fun, I presume! What a cruel being You are, what a terrible thing! What is this now? Why have You finally given me something now? Now, now that it is too late, now that I am to die in a mere matter of weeks, and at my own hand! Now that Ii will finally go to your fiery playground, that place where you put all of your disliked souls!"

In a rage, Erik ripped off his mask and showed his gloriously hideous face to the sky above.

"I thought You had finally sent me love with Christine, but that was all one lie! So why, after years of yearning, have You sent me this girl? Tell me, will You make her love me? Will You have great fun watching the beauty fall in love with the beast? I'm sure you will! Why can You not just leave me alone like everybody else? Why must you antagonize me so! And she says that I have kissed her! You have bestowed upon me, in all these years, three kisses, all of which happen to happen in a mere matter of days! This must be some trick of pity! Tell me, oh great and loving Father, have you finally begun to feel guilt in your anfractuous game?"

"Everyday I am in agony, and all because of You! Why did You do this to me? Why must You be so cruel?"

Erik slammed his left fist against the frost covered ground and hid his face behind his right hand and sobbed. He thought about taking his life right there; he was sure he could find a way. But he did not. Because when he thought of suicide, he saw a dark skinned face framed in light above him, smiling and touching his masked face without a hint of fright. Here was something for him, someone for him.

He did not love Nina, and he doubted he ever would. But, she was his for the taking. And he would take her.

* * *

><p>At the same time that Erik was having his deep, one-handed conversation with God, Christine was making her way through the underground labyrinth of the Opera Populaire.<p>

She had sneaked out of the Viscount de Chagny's grand estate and had slipped through the streets of night time Paris, a place where stars shone in trees and drunks lay on streets, where chorus girls rose to fame as Prima Donna's and prostitutes roamed the streets with no better place to go then a filthy bed. A magical, terrible place where anything seemed possible. A place where Angels were Phantoms and Phantoms were Angels. To Christine, it was home.

Christine was armed with nothing but an open heart and an apology that she was sure would be replied with forgiveness. She was to be married tomorrow, the date a secret she had somehow managed to keep secret from her Angel, and she had returned to his home to give him one final goodbye.

She was in the gondola now, it had been in the exact same place where she and Raoul had abandoned it on. . . that night. Struggling with her weak arms, Christine rowed her way through the thick water of the underground lake and watched the darkness slip past her as she made her way to the island. Christine wondered what awaited her there.

He had to be there. Her angel had to be there, there was no way possible that he would not be there. He was her Angel and Christine knew that when it came down to it, he would always be there for her. He loved her. He was her angel.

The night was cold and Christine shivered like a summer deer suddenly caught in Winter. For a moment, she regretted coming. What if he did not let her go again? Would she care?

What would Raoul say if he found out she was here?

Christine didn't want to dwell on the thought. Over the time they had become engaged he had changed from merely being protective of his sweet heart, to being obsessed with her utter safety. And she supposed he had a right to be with her Maestro around, Christine thought quietly to herself, but she had still felt terrible when he had plotted to destroy that one person who had found her and polished until shone as a star in a spotlight.

The bottom of the gondola scraped against a stone floor and Christine stepped out and waded her last few steps, caught up to her calves in water. She lifted her skirts and nearly tripped on entering Erik's open cave home.

Her stomach sank.

It was dark. Not a candle was lit. Not one.

"Angel?" She called out timidly. "Angel, do not hide from me. I am here. I must tell you something." There was no answer. Her stomach plummeted even further. "There is no use hiding. I will find you, _mon ange. _I am here, my Maestro, come to me, please."

Still there was no answer.

"Angel!" She cried out her voice echoing into a million 'angel's inside this depressing crypt.

But there was no one there and somewhere deep inside herself, a little part of Christine died. He was not there for her. A petty thought went through her childish mind: he did not love her anymore because he was not there for her any longer. No, her angel was not there and he was no where to be found in the city of Paris or even it's outskirts. Her angel had vanished.

In anguish, the soon to be wed bride dropped to her knees and screamed in utter distress, deep in the catacombs of the opera house where no one would hear her. He was not there. Her angel was not there. One who might be observing might have called the sad girl mad and may have been entirely true, for madness can be contagious and Christine's angel was certainly mad.

Christine sobbed to herself in the dark, holding herself for the first time in a long time and curled up on the damp stone floor, with no companions whatsoever but the echoes of her screams and sobs.

For the first time in a long time, Christine was alone.

* * *

><p>Throughout this night, three distressed souls nearly ripped themselves apart all because of each other. These occasions are much more common then you think.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

Nina woke the next morning to someone gently shaking her arm. She thought it was Erik and was going to tell him to go away before she looked up and saw the little maid with the empty eyes.

"Your husband is waiting for you Madame. He is already ready in the carriage." The maid murmured these words softly without blinking and Nina felt again that there was something wrong about her. She was missing something, she was empty.

Nina nodded and stood from the bed and retrieved a dress from her brown, leather case, a red traveling dress she hadn't worn since Rousseau had taken her from London promising anything she wished for. He had given it to her immediately after he had asked her to return to Paris with him. Nina had been delighted. It was the most beautiful thing the working, orphan girl had ever worn and now that she was used to such grandeur she had completely forgotten about it.

"Help me into this contraption, will you?" Nina said with a humorous air, hoping to get a comical reaction from the strange girl. She was rewarded with only a nod and a glossy stare. Nina began to unlace her night dress and the maid made to touch her but Nina wrapped her hand around the girls surprisingly warm wrist before she could. "What is the matter, dear? You are not feeling well?"

The maid shook her head and Nina let go of her wrist.

"Something bad has happened in one way or another. Tell me, darling. Why are you so empty? It is like you have lost your soul."

"It is not that I am empty Madame, it is that I am numb. I feel nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Perhaps I have lost my soul. I do not know." She paused. "I am numb in the same way your husband is numb."

Was Erik so numb? Nina had never noticed before. Perhaps she had not been paying close enough attention.

"Then tell me, why did my husband not wake me beforehand?" Nina felt a prick of irritation about this. He hadn't the nerve to wake her himself and he hadn't the nerve to face her in the vicinity of a public place; he would only confront her in the privacy of a carriage.

"He said it would be best to let you sleep as long as possible. I have brought you breakfast as well."

She motioned to an open platter of breakfast foods and Nina felt her stomach clench. The girl handed Nina her once forgotten gown as she let her night dress fall to the ground at her ankles. The maid helped Nina step into the skirts with a thinly fragile arm and began to tie the back laces tightly.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling very hungry." Nina said wearily, lifting a hand to her temple after slipping it through a satin sleeve.

Eating was the last thing on Nina's mind right now. Her head was pounding with a terrible head ache and her eyes hurt from crying last night. And why had she been crying? She did not know the answer. Something about Erik's dismissal had hurt her deeply. She remembered his abrupt disapproval of her actions and she felt her eyes begin to ache even further, but she had no more tears to cry.

"Madame should eat, especially if you are in for a long carriage ride."

Nina shook her head drainedly as the maid tied off her dress laces.

"Why don't you eat it, dear? You look like you could use something to eat."

The glassy eyed girl looked at her as if she had just said the most outrageous thing ever, her pale lips parted just slightly, and with an almost imperceptible slight shake of the head.

Nina smiled gently and took a pale, cold and bony hand in her own.

"I won't tell your father if that is what you're afraid of."

The maid reclaimed her hand. Nina watched her calmly as a wave of pity over took her. She had been a maid too, once upon a time before she had met a sadistic french business man, but something had ruined this girl that had never happened to her.

"If you won't be eating this morning Madame, then you should prepare to leave. You're husband will be missing you. He is eager to start the days journey, I know."

She lost the girl's eye contact and Nina watched as she turned and straightened her ragged apron and crouched down as if avoiding a beating or something along those lines. Poor posture formed from habit, Nina was sure. The girl reminded her of a Cosette she had read about in a book.

"Fine then. Tell me your name girl." Nina commanded this with authority and watched as the maids posture stiffened and she looked up at her warily.

"Lora." She said softly and Nina repeated the name while smoothing her red skirts.

"Do not fret, Lora. Light is coming your way. It always does. For everyone."

A few minutes later, Nina was being helped into the carriage with a gentle hand from Erik.

When she caught his eye, he looked at her seriously suggesting that they were in for a long conversation. Nina thought she caught a glimpse of guilt in Erik's expression, but scarcely before she noticed it, it had vanished beneath his stony composure. She wondered for a moment what he was feeling. This dark entity of a man was completely beyond her empathetic skills and she was completely bewildered when it came to his emotions. On normal occasions, Nina could read people like playing cards, but the Opera Ghost was no regular deck. If he were a book, he would be in a completely different language then the ones she knew, Nina decided thoughtfully.

Erik watched Nina closely. Whoever had lost bought her clothes was certainly a man of fine taste, though the arrangement of the dress seemed to suggest a frivolous nature. He was struck with the feeling that Nina did not care much what other people thought of her.

"An apology is in order, I think." Said Erik quietly as Nina sat down in the seat opposite him.

"Then I apologize for my previous behavior." Nina answered and Erik was struck dumbfounded and this Nina could read clearly. She watched as he clasped his hands together, hunched over, and began to shake with silent laughter. "What is so funny?" She asked with a slight twist in her tone.

"If anything," He began to explain, a smile still spread across his face, golden eyes closed. "It should be me apologizing to you, my dear. Ii never planned to be quite so rude."

"Well, I never imagined I would be flirting with a wanted murderer." She said quietly.

Erik twisted his lips and suddenly straightened and laid his arms lankily across his knees.

"Now, who said anything about being flirtatious?"

"You, when you called me, what was it, your rose? Sweet rose?"

He said nothing.

"You made provision to sleep in the same bed."

He said nothing.

"You held me while you slept."

Still, he said nothing.

"You called me upon being infatuated with you. I think it is you who are infatuated with me, my dear Phantom."

Erik sighed and his sigh was one filled with such sorrow that Nina immediately felt her chest fill with a shared kind of anguish.

"I am not capable of love or infatuation. Only an all consuming obsession. It has always been my ruin, besides that one flaw of my face. I loved Christine, but not like a man loves his lover. I loved her like a man caught in a web of sin, feeling nothing but the thought of making her mine." He sighed again, and Nina felt he chest ache with an even greater feeling of despair. "Perhaps I loved her once. Before the madness consumed me. But now I am capable of nothing of the sort. I am sure that if I saw my beloved again my heart would surely cease beating and I would go back to my Father. And not your God either. They called me something when I was on display as a boy. They called me the Devil's child. And that is what I am, wouldn't you agree?"

"Come here then, my loveless demon," Nina said tiredly patting the space beside her with a dark skinned hand. "Sit with me."

At her wish, Erik sat next to her and she yawned before stroking his jet black hair. He sighed again and rested his head against her shoulder.

"All is forgiven, then?" She said softly.

"That depends, do you forgive me?" He asked in a murmur.

"How could I not?"

Erik was completely exhausted before he remembered something.

"Oh yes, I have something or you." From the inside of his black frock coat, Erik withdrew a yellow rose tied with a white ribbon. She wondered where he had found one in bloom during the end of Winter. "A rose for a rose, my Bohemian beauty_."_

She took it from his hand and Nina examined it carefully. It was a gardened thing, something cultured and pruned from a shop, with perfect petals and stripped completely of thorns, but one small flaw lay on its stem and she pricked her finger. Erik watched, as if hypnotized, while a bead of blood surfaced to the skin of her finger.

"Let me tell you something about women, Erik." She said, not taking her eyes off of her bleeding finger. "Women are like roses. Very beautiful, yes, but if you come too close, you will prick your finger. It seems that your Christine was more then just one rose. No, she was a full summer garden. All the more beautiful, but amidst her beauty you were caught in a thicket of thorns."

"Saturnina?"

Nina smiled at hearing her full name, still stroking his soft hair.

"Yes?"

"You are a God fearing woman, I know. Do you think I am the Devil's child?"

It was her turn to sigh.

"Erik, when God made you, he simply wanted something unusual on his Earth."

"Your God tortures me."

"He tortures everyone at one time or another. But he has given you things hasn't he? Like your voice, for example." She answered with all the sincerity and gentleness of that love particular to mothers.

"And you." He whispered. And again, like the night he spent intoxicated, he slid his head into her lap. Something about this posture seemed absolutely comforting to him. He had never been so close to a woman before. "I have never experienced the grace of a loving mother, but surely this is what it must feel like."

"And I will never be a mother, but I think having a child would be something like taking care of you."

"But, have you thought of what I offered you?"

Nina struggled to remember what he meant. She cursed her bad memory.

"You could live in my home, you know." Oh yes, that was what he meant.

"Erik, what would people think? An unmarried man and woman living together. . . ."

"You would not care what they thought, I know, for one. And, who knows? Our society is changing. The Bohemians are taking over." Erik grinned from her lap with a gleam in his eyes while quoting her.

Nina smile and rested a warm hand against a cold forehead and soon Erik was asleep.

She looked down at his face in her lap and Nina remembered how on first observation she had thought him simply a man of ordinary looks. Now, he seemed handsome. He was kind, charming, sweet, intelligent, and talented. But, Nina reminded himself, he was no prince charming. He was a wanted criminal, a man who had taken lives and tortured others. And was really no handsome being.

Nina still yearned to see what lay under the mask.

But as she watched Erik she began to feel an inexplicable feeling in her stomach that if she really did want to become a nun, she was in trouble.

At least while Erik was around.

* * *

><p><strong>A <em>very<em> short chapter I know, but this was really just tieing up some loose ends from the last chapter. And I must apologize again for the late chapter. It was my birthday this weekend, and somehow my mother convinced me to drive up and spend a few days with her and my father, which really just consisted of my mother nagging me and my father awkwardly saying hello when I arrived at the ol' homestead and then not talking to me for the rest of four days which I mostly spent in my old room sleeping. I also had a minor episode i Penney's today where I started having chest pain and then collapsed against my friend who had to drive me home to my roomate/ sometimes nurse.**

**So it has been a rough week.  
><strong>

**But here it is. As always, love to all of you.  
><strong>


	12. Chapter 12

Erik and Nina had reached Calais before night fall and had managed to secure passes from there to England without any trouble whatsoever from the authority, something Erik feared would be a great problem. It was with relief to both Erik and Nina that nobody had either noticed or confronted them about the unusualness surrounding Erik's face. There had been a terrifying moment when the coach boy who had driven their taxi earlier had squinted and examined his face boldly. However, he did not say anything on the matter.

They were now currently waiting to board the ship that would take them to Dover and were standing around the docks with other various first class passengers.

This group chattered amiably to each other with the shallow wit of the upper classes and Erik had begun to develop a pounding head ache against his exposed skull. It was not with slight annoyance that he noticed a handsome young man with long, fair hair surveying Nina. He caught her eye, smiled, and she returned this smile. Instinctively, Erik looped an arm through Nina's and the man walked to their small refuge which was set slightly away from the main group.

"Miseour," The man held out his hand to Erik and he shook it, if not a little distastefully. "Phillipe Lefevre."

"Erik Ward." He introduced himself coldly but this young man, this _Phillipe Lefevre,_ remained quite oblivious.

"And this beautiful young woman?" Inquired the man, smiling in a way that can only be described as sweet. Nina smiled at him equally as sweetly and Erik felt a deep sense of repetitiveness. This man was the fop reincarnate and here was Christine beside him.

"My wife, Nina Ward." Like a trained lady, Nina offered her hand to the gentlemen and he kissed it with a slight irritation towards Erik. He was introducing her as his wife again and she felt uncomfortable. She could easily be his sister but he had unnecessarily entwined them in false matrimony.

"Please Erik, you mustn't be so cold," Nina gave a quick glare at her spouse so that Miseour Lefevre did not notice it. "I apologize for my husbands behavior, Miseour. He is easily envious."

"I am not." Protested Erik.

"Please, another man so much as looks at me and you must assert your dominance." She humored both Erik and Lefevre. The young man grinned at them both but Erik remained completely impassive in his form.

Erik had spent the last few nights quietly reflecting on what had really been the Phantom's down fall. After some serious thinking, he had come to the conclusion that it had been his constant emotion that had finally driven Christine away. He had, as he always had, been far too hostile. Towards everyone. Especially towards Christine.

He remembered how he had wrapped his miscreated monster hands around her angel's neck.

But Erik promised himself that past events would not repeat themselves. He had not yet decided if he really wanted to claim Nina as his, but he swore that he would not let another man so much as touch her until he came to a complete conclusion. And even then, if some man slipped through his seive, he would not treat the same situation with anger and violence. He would win her over by being the gentlemen that he really was.

Unless violence was the only way to protect her.

"I see. You are quite the couple." The man grinned at Erik ad nodded, something that left Erik in complete mystery as to what the young man meant. "Well, I wouldn't want to bother you."

"Oh no, please Miseour. Bother us." Nina said politely, much to Erik's chagrin.

"Ah, well tell me Miseour and Mademoiselle Ward. Why are you two going to England? Business or pleasure?"

"Oh, a little bit of both." Nina chatted easily while Erik retained his social awkwardness. He wished this man would leave him and Nina to themselves.

"If you do not mind my asking, what exactly is your profession, Miseour?"

"I have many, you could say." Nina squeezed Erik's arm with a surprising strength. "But I am most fondly a composer." He added.

"How fascinating. I feel quite boring as a mere lawyer."

"A law man, you say? But that is quite fascinating. What cases do you usually work with?"

"In this economy? Just about anything I can get my hands on."

Nina and the man laughed and Erik was beginning to formulate some excuse to take his and Nina's leave. He was not one to partake in simple small talk and he certainly did not want Nina talking with this man. She was always getting herself in trouble and he felt like if he didn't prevent it, it would be his job to get her out of it, a task he definitely did not look forward to.

When a rough voice shouted out that the ship was ready to board, Erik gave an internal noise of relief.

"Well, Miseour, Mademoiselle, I hope I will be seeing you at dinner tonight on the ship." He bowed his head lightly. "Farewell, for now."

"Farewell, Miseour Lefevre." Said Nina happily and she felt Erik grip her arm tightly as they boarded the first class ship.

Escorted to their room by a young boy who did not leave until he was granted a tip, Erik closed their room door behind Nina and Erik and he crossed his arms at her in obvious distaste. It was a large square room with four doors on each wall. One led to the outside corridor, another to a polished bathroom with a gilded counter top, and two others that led to separate bedrooms. Erik stood with his back facing the wall with the bathroom and Nina walked past him to examine her face in the mirror glass there.

"Come on now, don't be like that. Convent girl, remember? You do not have to be so protective."

She ran her fingers over her jawline and Erik stepped into the bathroom behind her and looked at their figures beside each other in the mirror. He stood behind Nina and lifted a hand to the top of her head to smooth her velvety black tresses. She noticed that his eyes looked sorrowful, though she could not find it in her to ask why.

"I think I do, silly girl. You have already once involved yourself with a sadist and you have found yourself with possibly one of the most wanted men in France. You like to involve yourself with danger, my dear."

"If you say so." She sighed and leaned back into Erik's chest as he ran his slender fingers through her hair.

For a moment, Erik lost his reality. The smell of Nina enraptured him so greatly that he involuntarily wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her into his body. Resting his chin on her shoulder, their temples touched and she smiled. His hand found hers in the folds of her dress and he raised and held it to her chest. He felt her heart beat, slow and iambic. For a moment, Erik dreamed that he was, for once, a normal man and he was reminded of a time when he had held a chocolate curled angel in a lair in a similar fashion while sharing with her that musical phenomenon that was closest to him. He exhaled an exclamation of sorrow that seemed so sad that if a passing man had hear it, he would cry Alas! There is a troubled man.

The boat lurched beneath them and Erik looked up into the mirror and saw a monster in a mask holding a beautiful young rose. It was wrong and he cursed himself for initiating the embrace. He let go of her abruptly and stepped back out of the bathroom, straightening his cravat while doing so.

"I'm going to lay down for a while. I have a head ache." Erik excused himself curtly with this and left to one of the rooms, leaving Nina utterly alone.

She stood by herself watching his retreating form and wondered what had gotten into him. He had been angry, then he had lost himself in a deep wave of melancholy. What could possibly be troubling him? Was it thoughts of his lost love? Probably, she decided, though he had seemed to hold her without a qualm.

Nina had never been held like that before and she shivered to remember Erik's tender embrace. She went into the main room of their quarters and sat in a small women's chair beside an unlit fireplace.

He was being flirtatious again, she decided. But if he was so heart broken, what were his intentions? And why was she even asking herself these questions? If she was going to be a nun, why did such things matter?

Amidst these questions, Nina went to her room to prepare for dinner. Looking through her dresses, she wondered what Erik would like to see her in. She decided that he liked darker colors and maneuvered herself into a blue satin gown with a skirt and top hemmed with black lace. She slipped two sapphires into her ears and guided her arms into two black lace gloves that climbed up to her fore arms.

When she had lived with Rousseau, he made her dress this way every night. He said it had made her look desirable, and he had not lied to her. But this time she was not dressing like this because someone else told her to. Tonight, she decided, she dressed like that for Erik. It would surely impress him and perhaps it would even take his mind away from his Christine. At least, she hoped it would. She did not want to see the man who had become her dear friend over the past few days in such agony.

Nina smoothed the skirts of her gown and went back into the main room to wait for Erik to escort her to dinner. However, waiting was tedious.

In boredom, Nina closed her eyes and raised her arms slowly. With the carefree attitude of an untrained dancer, she began to twirl slowly, a smile gracing her face. Moving with fluidity, the girl in the blue satin gown danced a silent ballet, occasionally stumbling under the rocking of the boat. She lifted a leg here, crossed her arms there and then began to slow all with the magicalness of choreography made up on the spot. At the end of her dance, Nina fell to her knees and fisted her hands into the skirt of her dress.

With her head lifted and her eyes raised to the heavens that were blocked by the ceiling, she began to speak in a whisper so quiet only the best ears could have heard it.

"Dear Lord, what are your intentions towards Erik and I? Is it destiny that you have joined us? Or is it perhaps fate? And, if it is either destiny or fate, what are we destined for? Are we to be, my Lord? Are we what lovers call soul mates? Show me a sign, a symbol. Anything. Tell me why you have given him to me. He is no ordinary man, I realize, and he has been hurt. Is it that I am supposed to heal him? Good God, loving God, I would just like him to be happy. I have never asked you much, but if you could do this I will for sure devote myself to you for the rest of my life."

Nina made the symbol of the cross and folded her hands. Slipping into deep prayer, she did not realize that Erik had been watching her.

Closing the door of his room gently so that she would not hear him, Erik sat on his bed and let out a puff of air. Burying his face in his hands, he gave a tired groan and tried to calm himself. His lungs felt compressed and he felt just a bit light headed.

Destiny? Fate? Soul mates? These were terms Erik was quite familiar with but had never associated himself with. These were privileges of the normal. His face excluded him from such things, and if he ever had had a soul mate it would have been Christine.

This girl was being ridiculous, he told himself. They had known each other for not even a week and she was speaking of soul mates. Yes, she was definitely being ridiculous.

Erik heard a soft knocking at his door and Nina's voice drifted through his ears. "Erik, it's almost time for dinner."

Erik cleared his throat before answering, "My head ache has gotten worse. I think I'll just have something sent to my room."

Nina opened the door and stepped inside, receiving a scowl from Erik.

"Knock before entering a room next time. Especially a _man's_ room. We get up to things, you must realize."

Nina felt her face flush and she mewled out an apology. In the innocent mind of a girl who has so often been touched by the grime of sin, Nina did not dwell on these things, It was sinful to think of and evil to participate in.

"Do you think you're ill at all?"

She raised the back of her hand to his forehead and he noticed her dress. It was not like the dresses she usually wore, and those had already been a bit revealing for an unmarried women. But this was entirely different. It was less like a dress to be worn by a lady and more to be worn by a loose women. He felt his eyes travel to her chest and he had to refrain himself from making a deeply feral noise within his throat. He was beginning to feel the familiar feelings of manly desire.

"I'm fine. It's just a head ache."

"Would you like me to stay with you and eat dinner here?"

"I think some time to myself would be good actually."

Nina's eyes saddened and Erik almost immediately felt guilty, but he really needed time to think about things and Nina's distracting attire would fog his mind if she were present.

"I'll join you tomorrow, I promise."

She smiled and nodded. Erik felt a little twinge in his chest at this. A vague thought went through his mind that she was growing on him but he pushed it away. It was a startling thought, he knew, but he would have to address it later. He was beginning to feel aroused and that could lead to no where but trouble. He feared he was turning into an even worse deviant, lusting after this child who appeared to be woman.

"Now, go get dinner before you start to waste away. You haven't eaten much the past few days and I won't have people in my care becoming ill."

Erik shooed Nina out of his room and he closed the door softly behind her. He lifted his hands to a string of pearls that hung around his neck and rolled the cool white orbs between his fingers. He smiled.

Perhaps it was fate after all.


	13. Chapter 13

Nina checked her appearance in the lavatory mirror one more time before going to dinner. As she stepped into the corridor that led to the dining hall, she was greeted by a familiar face; it was Phillip Lefevre, the lawyer who she had befriended earlier. He waved and fell in step beside her, both walking towards their dinner.

"Hello, Mademoiselle, pleasure to see you again." She nodded and smiled and he returned her smile.

"As it is a pleasure to see you, Miseour."

"Why, it appears you have no escort? Whatever happened to your husband?"

"He has come down with a headache, I'm afraid. He gets them frequently I'm afraid, and it's best just to leave him alone." Nina explained, portraying the right amount of despair perfectly.

"Ah, well, if you do not mind my asking, may I have the honor of escorting the Mademoiselle to dinner tonight? I would certainly be ill at ease to miss out on something so lovely."

"It would be with great joy, Miseour." She consented, and he intertwined his arm with hers.

"Oh, please, I insist you call me Phillipe. I have a strong distaste for formality."

"Very well then, Phillipe, but you must call me Nina in return."

"Then, Nina, I must say you look absolutely beautiful this evening." He flattered.

"It is only as equal as your charm, Phillipe." She returned his flattery as they continued to walk down the hall.

This kind of talk continued until the two companions reached the dining hall where they were both seated with at least the dozen other aristocratic passengers that could have afforded the price of first class passage from Calais to the rainy ports of Dover. Here, this high society talked as they had always been accustomed too; the men talked of business and women; the women talked of fashion and men. It was in this world that Nina transformed from the wise and slightly mad soul to the ideal product of the upper class society. Her only flaw was her dark skin and she was often treated quite poorly for this, despite extensive knowledge of both men and fashion.

A pianist played softly in the background and servants set plates filled with food before each individual.

Nina sat across from Phillipe and in between two other woman who greeted her. These women greeted her politely before taking silent disapproval of being seated beside a girl of her complexion. They did not, however, show this on their calmly composed exterior: they would not take a risk at embarrassing themselves this way. No, they would show it in the way that most women of society do. They would smile, act polite, and say things that at first glance appear to be kind but are really so poisonous one would think they could only be formulated by a viper.

Both woman were sheltered things, completely petty, and vast hypocrites. One went by the name of Countess Wilkinson, as she was English, and was far less intolerable then the other, who was called Mademoiselle Triviet, as she had been born into the world of first class Creole society. In fact, she had grown up as the youngest daughter of the master of an American cotton plantation in the city of New Orleans and had been exposed to the vast horror of racism there. Because of this, she took distaste at any one woman who did not have a perfectly pale composition such as her own.

This Mademoiselle Triviet was the pride and joy and constant annoyance of her father, Miseour Triviet. He loved her, but he could not stand to be in the vicinity of her mouse like voice for more then a short time. Miseour Triviet had been to Paris completely for discussions of cotton exportation into France and his daughter had somehow wormed her way into his trip. The two were now on their way to England where the male Triviet would talk of imported products and the female Triviet would have some fun acting as a complete floozy, as she was a bit of a whore.

Unlike his daughter, this man did not share the prejudiced views unfortunately so common in the place from which they represented. It was because of this that he only gave a short glance to Nina as she sat down and returned to his wine, which he was completely preoccupied with.

Countess Wilkinson was an older woman, nearly forty five, and was on this particular ship with her husband, a well known, and very round, Count of Wales. He had been in France on the pretense of business things but had really been there to sample different foods and tobaccos. He was a happy old man, whose hair was receding and whose waistline was advancing and he was often taken to boredom. He sat on Phillipe's right. His wife sat directly opposite him on Nina's left and we may say that, in the case of their marriage, they had simply been too alike not to marry. The two had been married for nearly twenty eight years and since then they had been perfectly content with each other. This was because they never disagreed on a single thing. It was in this way that they both equally attacked Nina with similar allegations.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle." Said the Count Wilkinson, shortly echoed by his wife and Mademoiselle Triviet in her squeaky voice.

"Good evening." Nina said smiling and surveying each of them in turn. Unlike these discriminatory people, she found no faults with them.

"What is a lady such as yourself doing here?" The way that Mademoiselle Triviet said this in her voice that could drive the sanest person mad, it could easily imply that Nina was of higher worth then to eat dinner with these souls, which, in truth, she really was. God loves the peasant just as much as he loves the aristocrat and the kind are beholden with so much more glory then the cruel. However, Mademoiselle Triviet said this in the sense that Nina was lower then herself.

"Why, my husband and I are returning to England to our home there." She lied with a genuine smile as a servant filled her empty glass with water, as she requested. These three people noticed this and took note.

"How charming, how charming." Said Countess Wilkinson. "But if you are with your husband, wherever could he be? Should he not be escorting you?"

"Oh, he is always plagued with terrible head aches, I'm afraid, but he insisted I go to dinner anyways."

"He seems like a kind man then. Most husbands would prefer their wife stay with them." The Count Wilkinson said this, meaning 'This woman should be with her husband, wherever he happens to be. Perhaps e does not like her much.'

"Well, Erik is not the usual man. But Miseour Lefevre is escorting me tonight, I am pleased to say." Nina made a small gesture to Phillipe and took a sip of water from her glass.

"Well, I must say it is my pleasure to escort such a beautiful young lady."

Nina smiled graciously at Phillipe and all three aristocrats felt a sense of distaste towards this man. Who was this dark skinned wife to act flirtatious towards another man, and who was this man to act flirtatious to a married woman?

"Your husband, Erik you said his name was, is unusual you say. Unusual how?" Countess Wilkinson secretly discriminated against this man whom she had never met. To be unusual was to be abnormal and in this society, abnormalities are treated like the plague. These people thrust all oddities as far as they can away from them. To be born with even the slightest abnormality is to be a lepper in your own home. Erik discovered this early in life.

"He is a man of many talents, you could say. He is an artist, very sensitive." Nina did not know if Erik would want her to divulge these truths about him, but if she said something else she as sure it would be worse.

"He is also quite envious." Said Phillipe. "And I speak from experience."

"Experience?" Asked Mademoiselle Triviet, batting her eyelashes at the handsome young man.

"Ah." The man took a sip of his wine and smiled at Nina, his eyes twinkling. "On the first occasion we met, it seemed that Miseour Ward, for that is his surname, is quite reluctant to let other men speak to his wife."

Nina smiled a little sadly, though nobody confronted he about this.

It was no wonder he was so jealous of this man when he spoke to her, Nina thought to herself. He had already had one woman stolen from him, he probably feared the occurrence would repeat itself, even if she was not in a romantic relationship with Erik.

"You say you are married, but I see no ring on the Mademoiselle's finger." Count Wilkinson said this and Nina instinctively felt her right hand travel to her left to clutch her ring finger.

"I must have left it in my room." She said after a moment, still clutching her hand.

Count and Countess Wilkinson, and Mademoiselle Triviet all shared raised-eyebrows glances as if to say, We were right to judge her. There is something not right with her.

"Do you take your ring off often?" Asked Mademoiselle Triviet. Taking your ring off was a sign of an unhappy marriage.

"Oh no, I was just cleaning it. It's a shame to let something beautiful become unclean. I must have just forgotten to put it back on after I set it down."

"Beautiful, you say? I would very much like to see a ring so beautiful." Mademoiselle Triviet smiled and Countess Wilkinson agreed with a vigorous nod. Her mound of dark hair wobbling atop her head made Nina sure it must be a wig.

"I'll be certain to remember it tomorrow morning at breakfast." On the outside, Nina smiled, but in her interior she cursed herself. Wherever was she going to get a wedding ring?

"I would also very much like to meet this _unusual _husband of yours." Mademoiselle Triviet lilted in her intolerable voice.

"I'm afraid that will be up to him." Nina said softly.

There was a moment of silence between this particular group.

"Well, if it's any account, I can never remember to wear mine myself." Phillipe Lefevre took a sip of his wine and left these four people in slight shock.

"Excuse me, Miseour, I was unaware that you were married." Countess Wilkinson twitched slightly and her hair swayed alarmingly. Nina was now certain it was a wig.

"Oh yes. She is at home just now with the children."

Though he said this, it is important to know that Miseour Lefevre, in fact, has neither a wife nor children. This particular man had grown up amidst his Mother's social groups and had observed for years how these kinds of people attacked each other with polite smiles and cruel words. He had simply said these phrases to help Nina against the discrimination of these stupid aristocrats.

Such talk continued for the remainder of dinner, Count and Countess Wilkinson and Mademoiselle Triviet all taking turns in attacking the Spaniard with impertinent questions, Nina answering politely as she was raised to do around such people, and Phillipe Lefevre occasionally adding a helpful comment towards Nina here and there. Miseour Triviet remained completely silent, occasionally giving irritated glances to his daughter.

At the end of dinner, these people, who had all formed a twisted friendship where they pretended to be good acquaintances but secretly hated each other, bid themselves go to the public parlor to smoke and listen to more of the pianists gentle allegros. Nina, however, did not feel up to another assault and bid these people farewell for the night.

Miseour Lefevre offered to walk her back to her room, and Nina agreed with a genuine smile and he took her arm in his again.

"I have not been subjected to such a dinner in a very long time." Nina sighed wearily.

"Don't worry, deep down they're just evil people." Said Phillipe, and Nina chuckled though her face became serious after a moment.

"Not evil. Perhaps imbeciles, but not evil." Phillipe nodded thoughtfully at Nina's words and they became silent until they stod at the door of the room in which Erik and Nina were staying for the passage.

"I must bid you farewell for the night, Nina." Phillipe said, kissing her gloved hand.

His eyes were green, she noticed, like the sea. They were beautiful, but no where as beautiful as Erik's gold ones.

"Farewell, Phillipe." She said quietly.

The door beside Nina swung open and Erik stood in the doorway, smiling smugly at the pair of them.

"Miseour Lefevre, we meet again." He said, pulling Nina to him and resting a hand on her waist.

"Miseour Ward." Phillipe said with a smile and a short nod.

"Miseour Lefevre was just escorting me back to our room." Nina said in an attempt to escape Erik's scorn. She knew he would be unhappy to see Nina so near this man.

"I see. That was very kind of him. Thank you, Miseour Lefevre." Erik said calmly. In this way, Nina knew that he was very upset with her. His calmness often led to danger, she knew, and this would be no exception. He simply did not want to show hostility in front of the young man.

"Come now, Nina. I've been missing you."

Nina slipped into the room behind Erik sheepishly and murmured a last farewell to Phillipe.

"Good night, Miseour Lefevre." Said Erik, closing the door curtly.

Nina sat in the woman's chair by the hearth and looked up at Erik solemnly.

"You are angry at me." She said plainly, crossing her legs.

"Why would I be angry with you?" He said, taking a seat in the chair opposite her.

"As I said before, you're quite the envious man." She said, pulling slightly at the fingers of one of her gloves. Erik felt himself slightly entranced by this simple movement of her hands.

Remembering the vow he had taken earlier that day he remained completely calm.

"If I was envious of anyone, why would that be an occasion to be angry with you?"

"I don't know, I thought you would react the same way as you did this morning when Miseour Lefevre spoke to me previously."

"Oh no," He said coolly, taking in her dress again. "Miseour Lefevre is completely harmless. And if that changes, I can take care of things."

He laced his fingers and grinned madly at her. Nina caught a glimpse of the Phantom that Christine had known so well and gave an involuntary shudder.

"You would kill an innocent man? A man with a wife and children?"

"I've done it before." He said quietly. "Plenty of times before."

Nina glared at him for a moment and Erik stood, lifted her from her seat, then sat back in his own chair, holding Nina in his arms like a child. She did not resist these physical commands of his, but wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. In a strange mesmerization, they watched the lit fire flicker in it's bed.

"But I would not do it now. I would not kill a man now with a family now. I could not take somebody's love away from them because I know how terrible the feeling is now."

They slipped into a calm silence and sat this way for a while, entwined in each others arms. Erik fell into the intoxication of Nina's scent again and he sighed into her raven hair. They sat so peacefully that Nina almost felt herself begin to fall asleep.

"Erik?" She said softly, remembering something.

"Hmm?"

"I need a ring. A wedding ring."

Erik shook his head slightly to himself.

"May I ask why?"

"I am supposed to be your _wife._ People noticed that I did not have a ring."

Erik sighed and slipped a hand into the pocket of his waist coat. He pulled out a ring, the ring that he had given to Christine, the ring that she had given him back after he released her, and took Nina's hand. He removed the glove there and slipped the ring onto her finger.

How many times had he yearned to do the same thing with Christine, he thought to himself. But in the end he could only force her to do such things with wicked ultimatums. And now he was giving this ring to a girl he scarcely knew.

Nina examined Erik's wring carefully. It had a gold band and was set with a black stone that glimmered green and purple iridescence in the dim light of the fire. In a large way, it perfectly represented Erik's taste. It was dark and beautiful and, in a strange way, tragic.

"This is Christine's ring." She commented, looking up at Erik concernedly, her eyes flickering intensely. "I can't take this."

"Why not? Christine won't be getting any use from it now."

She sighed and he gripped her hand for a moment.

"Thank you." She said sleepily.

"Anything for you, _mon Rosette._"

Erik said these words, but Nina did not hear him. She had fallen asleep.

Gently, Erik lifted her in his arms and took her to her room. He laid her gently on the bed there and began to unbutton the front of her dress. He removed the delicate blue gown and set it gently on a chair beside her bed. Slowly, he lifted the covers up to her chin and rested her head comfortable against the pillow.

He looked down at her quietly, his eyes glowing in the darkness of Nina's sleeping quarters.

"Anything for you, Saturnina."


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days passed by in a similar fashion. Nina went to meals without Erik, who stayed in the room under the pretense of a headache. Phillipe walked Nina back to her room after these meals, always the gentleman, and after dinner, Nina would curl up onto Erik's lap until she fell asleep. The masked man would then carry Nina to her room and set her to bed. After this, he would go to bed himself, always falling asleep with thoughts of Nina floating around his head.

Despite this lovely program, Nina was continually pestered by the same three imbeciles of her first dinner. They wanted to meet this mysterious, jealous man that was the Spanish girl's husband. They talked endlessly about it and it had begun to wear wearily on Nina's nerves.

One night, a few minutes before dinner, Nina was waiting for Phillipe to escort her and was sitting in the woman's chair before the hearth, resting her chin upon her hand and looking up at Erik sullenly. He sat across from her, lazily flipping the pages of a thick, leather bound novel, not paying any attention to the moody girl before him.

"Erik, won't you come to dinner with me this evening?"

He glanced up at her and shook his head before returning to his book.

"Erik, those people are simply intolerable." She exclaimed with a huffy sigh.

"Exactly why I won't be meeting them anytime soon."

"Erik, half the time they speak they are simply going on and on about how they really must meet my husband. Won't you please come just once and shut them up for me?"

Erik could see Nina was completely exasperated and he closed his book gently rolled his neck tiredly and gave an exhausted groan. He had been up late last night thinking about Nina and her long dark hair, her beautiful eyes and her soft skin. He had kept waking up in the middle of the night swearing to himself he could smell her scent from his bed and wishing she was laying beside him. All week he had been aching with desire and it was starting to make him a little delirious in his arousal. He had spent the entire previous tossing and turning in his sheets and yearning for a body beside him to make his and all he could think of was Nina, asleep in just the room beside him.

Erik prayed that he would not do anything stupid and examined Nina.

Her dress this evening was forest green with cream cotton hemming along the skirt and top line. A thin strand of black hair fell across her shoulder and over her chest. Her blue eyes glimmered in the low firelight, hidden behind thick eyelashes, and he felt for a moment that they were enchanting him.

He felt another lustful stirring in his soul and Erik hoped that perhaps giving him a few moments without the sinful thinking that awakens in privacy would help with his. . . special situation.

"Fine." He said flatly. "I'll go to dinner with you."

"Oh, thank you so much Erik! I owe you a favor."

Erik felt his stomach twist, thinking of all the 'favors' she could give him.

A soft knocking came from the door and Nina jumped up suddenly, clapping her hands together once. She gave consent for Phillipe to enter and he did so, arms folded politely behind his back.

"Ah, Miseour Lefevre," Erik said softly when the younger man entered, crossing his legs. "I'm afraid your services won't be needed tonight."

"Oh, is that so?" Phillipe said brightly. "I am glad to hear you are feeling well again."

Erik nodded and stood, straightening his black cravat and giving Phillipe a strange, twisted grin that unnerved him slightly.

"Well, why can't I have two gentlemen escort me to dinner tonight?" Nina said, rocking back and forth on the heels of her feet like a child.

At her words, Phillipe laughed and Erik allowed himself a genuine smile.

"My wife, always the bohemian." Erik said with a slight shake of the head.

"Now come on, you two." Nina said, grabbing each man's arm with her own. "I don't know about you both but I am quite famished."

When these three made their way to the dinner hall, Erik took notice of the boy playing the piano there, though he said nothing to him whatsoever. He was a mediocre player and only sounded advance for the pieces he played only seemed difficult at first listen. His dynamics were atrocious and his tempo changed every few phrases. On top of this, he was constantly paying far too much attention to whether or not the passengers of his employed ship were enjoying his performance. Anyone else on this ship would not have criticized this boy so much, but Erik took immediate dislike to him.

Ignoring this shallow playing, Erik sat across from Nina ind Phillipe's usual place. In turn, Phillipe sat in between Erik and Count Wilkinson. Nina took her usual seat in between Mademoiselle Triviet and Countess Wilkinson, and Miseour Triviet, ever the silent figure, sat on Erik's left.

"I must say, Miseour, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." Count Wilkinson reached across Phillipe unceremoniously and shook Erik's hand before introducing himself.

"And you." Erik said politely, if not a little quietly.

"Nina tells us you are a man of the arts, Miseour Ward." Said Mademoiselle Triviet and Erik flinched at her voice which frankly reminded him of a peacock's screech. This whore of a lady was eying Erik with all the flirtations of a prostitute and he grimaced at her, something she mistook as a genuine smile.

"I am a man of many things, Mademoiselle." He replied modestly, as silent servants dressed in white laid filled plates in front of each individual. The boy's poor piano skills were starting to give him a headache.

Already he could tell that he would be leaving this dinner with his hatred of people completely reaffirmed.

"Oh, indulge us, Miseour Ward. What kinds of things?"

Nina, who had been ignoring this shallow conversation like she had attempted to do the last few days, looked up from her dinner and Erik gave her a look as if to say 'How on Earth did you get me to agree to dine with these petty people?'. She answered him with an expression that was somewhere between grateful and guilty.

"I am an architect, scholar, magician, musician, composer." Erik said these and gave a small shrug, twirling a minute salad fork in his gloved hand.

"Quite impressive, Miseour. You must be very proud of your husband, Nina." Said Countess Wilkinson. Erik observed her powdered face and false hair distastefully. Typical of an upper class lady to do anything to stay young, he mused to himself, taking note at the obvious clinging to youth. He was certain that under her wig her hair would be gray and beneath the powder laid wrinkles, carved deep into her face.

"Indeed I am. He is a most extraordinary man." Nina's words were so soft that Erik began to feel the agony of lust again. Strongly discouraging a persistent flush to rise to his face at Nina's praise of him, he casually coughed before taking a sip of wine.

Nina managed to catch Erik's eye and they shared one of those moments transfixed in time where two beings see each other and realize they share something. What they share, however, they are unaware of. What they share is one simple word that is easy to say and fairly easy to spell but impossible to describe. What they share is the same thing Romeo and Juliet felt when they first caught site of each other at Capulet's masquerade. It was the very thing Nina had asked her God before when inquiring about Erik. It was a shared fate, and they felt it tremendously.

The others at this table, even the ones who Nina had not introduced herself and Erik to, witnessed this glorious event and fell silent. The only noise that penetrated the air was the pianists playing in the background and Erik's frayed tolerance of this finally snapped and he stood up suddenly from the table, breaking that heavenly moment.

Striding over to the grand piano, Erik motioned for the boy to move with a wave of his hand and he did, lifting off of the piano bench hastier then a rabbit, fearing this tempestuous man.

Giving the boy one final glare, Erik seated himself at the piano and paused, like he always did before playing. Taking in the ebbing flow of music that suddenly rushed forward to the tips of his fingers, Erik began playing. He played with such emotion and magnificence that we would no longer be able to scorn Christine on believing he really was the Angel of Music.

When he began playing, the entire room fell into an even deeper silence at his sonatas. These people felt a strange substance begin to creep into their soul. It is the feeling of witnessing true beauty and perfection for the first time. Some grinned, some wept, and some were put into a trance, much like Christine had the first time she was introduced to her Angel's music of the night. Despite these differentiated reactions, they all felt that same fantastic feeling. It was much similar to the feeling of falling in love for the first time, exactly what had confused Christine so thoroughly about her Angel, for she _had_ believed it to be love.

Erik, who was not granting any attention to this groups peculiar reactions, rested his head against the top of the piano. The piece he played was something he had written himself during one of his long periods of depression and yearning for Christine's love. It portrayed this yearning perfectly. To listen to it was to ache and pine as Erik had and to immerse yourself in it fully was the agony the Phantom had felt when seeing his beloved kiss her lover on the roof of the opera house.

When his intensity began to soften and his mind became clearer, Erik stopped playing and looked up to see the inhabitants of this room in their catastrophic state. He smiled at them all and they stared at him.

The room jumped in unison when a strange noise, similar to a wounded animal, escaped into the air and Mademoiselle Triviet was disturbed to see her father with tears running freely down his face. The reason she was disturbed was because she had never seen her father cry before.

"My God man," This man said softly, speaking for the first time in front of this group. "You have touched my soul."

Erik nodded wearily and held out a hand to Nina.

"Come, dear. I am tired now."

Nina obeyed him and clung to his arm, like a drowning man clinging to a raft. She had been one of the ones put into a trance and had still not recovered from that fuzzy state of mind.

"Miseour Ward?" Said Phillipe softly just before Erik and Nina were at the door that led to the corridor.

"Yes, Miseour Lefevre?" He answered exhaustively.

"Will we be seeing you again?"

Erik shook his head and gave no explanation before leaving to his and Nina's quarters.

When they left, this room of people all agreed on one thing. He was a peculiar man indeed.

Once in their room, Nina closed the door quickly and slid against the back of the door and sat slumped against the bottom of the wall, a feeble moan escaping her lips. Erik's music had had an unexplainable effect on her and she had suddenly found herself immersed in an aching for sin.

Erik sat in front of her cross legged and observed her quizzically.

"What is the matter, _mon Rosette_?" He asked, clasping his hands together thoughtfully.

"Something has come over me suddenly. I feel. . . strange."

"Strange how?" He inquired. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No. Not ill. I want something. No, that's not it. I _need _something."

Erik swallowed a lump rising in his throat. Being in the presence of other people had not relieved him of his arousal and he was beginning to wonder if Nina was experiencing that same sinful feeling.

Slowly, he slid across the floor so that he sat against the wall next to Nina and she wrapped her arms around his neck before climbing into his lap again. When confronted, she would not be able to explain why she did this, only that she had needed to do it. When she did this, Erik copied her feeble moan, but with the full sensuality of a man. At the sound of his voice, she felt the place between her legs start to throb and he took notice of a sheen of perspiration appearing on her forehead. If he had not known what she had been experiencing, Erik would have rushed for a doctor at once.

"Saturnina?" He said, a strain running through his unearthly voice.

"Yes, Erik?" She replied, her eyes blinking open slowly.

"Take off your dress." He commanded.

She straightened suddenly and Erik looked into her eyes seriously.

"Take it off. Now."

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><p><strong>Hehe, cliffhanger because I'm evil. As always, love to you all. And I must thank my reviewers for always saying such kind things. You are all simply lovely.<br>**


	15. Chapter 15

**Whoa, whoa, whoa, mature stuff here. If you don't want to read it you don't have to but somebody was clawing me for some fan service. If you skip it you probably won't be too confused. :) Or at least I'll try to make it that way...  
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**I'll be having surgery tomorrow so this may be the last update for a while, my dears, but I will try to write as often as possible while recovering.  
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**Don't forget to review! Reviews keep me happy.  
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><p>"Take it off." Demanded Erik, gripping her arm tightly in his cold hand, a pleading agony tainting his masked face. "Take the damn dress off now, or I'll do it myself." He added breathlessly when Nina hesitated, like a man on the brink of death, his voice filled with a deadly power over her, and she knew that he was not lying.<p>

Nina found herself very frightened and yet ever attracted to Erik's fatalness. At this very instance, she feared his unpredictability but the flood of sexual desire that burned in her wanted him with a force so strong that it would easily have broken a weak soul. Two voices in her head conflicted. Lust told her to do as he commanded and Virtue told her to deny him. Lust argued against this using morality. If she rejected him it would surely ruin his mental state even further. Virtue countered that it was immoral to have sexual relations with a man before marriage. In fact, it was not only immoral but a great sin to the girl who found comfort in her God. How could she ever let her God down by laying with a man before marriage? Lust denied any matter to this, saying that Erik would probably force himself on her anyways if she refused him and sexual relations would be better consensual instead of forced. Virtue argued that he would never hurt her as he had said before that he would never dream of doing something so foul. But here he was, whispered Lust, and he said that if she didn't remove her dress he would do it himself.

There was some truth when Virtue argued that Erik would never harm her. In fact, Erik would never dream of doing anything to Nina in a sexual sense, even if it was completely consensual. However, there are rare people who were meant to be two separate people but for some reason were forced into the same body before birth. Sometimes one of these souls will lay dormant its entire life and never surface into consciousness and sometimes something will trigger it into waking. Erik was one of these people and along with him, there was the Phantom. Erik was the man in this case, kind, sensible, sensitive, romantic, and caring. And there was also the Phantom within him, a cruel, sadistic being who did not care so much at the expense of others so long as he got what he wanted. If Erik had not been subjected to the tortures of his childhood and the rest of his life, the Phantom probably would have never come to life within him. But he had, and this monster had taken control of this shared body at this particular moment. Although the Phantom was in current control, however, Erik, the man, stood firmly, imprinted in the back of his mind, whispering reason, and this occasionally slipped into the Phantom's actions. For example, it was not the Opera Ghost that released Christine after he had kissed her, but Erik, fighting against the deeds he knew to be wrong, positively screaming at his other self to let their love go so that she could live happily ever after. This arrangement worked in the same way the other way around. Sometimes it was the Phantom who gave dark suggestions to his other self.

Often times, it seems that our body and brain also argue with each other. Nina's body said yes, her brain said no. However, in some instances the physical overpowers the mental. A man who is wounded still cries out in agony, even though he knows there is no purpose to these screams.

These battles went on for a while where time seemed to pass slowly, and Erik watched Nina as she came to no conclusion. In the end, he decided for her.

Reaching behind her back, Erik began to unbutton the back of her forest gown, his fingers fumbling as he tried to do the task with as much speed as possible. While he was doing this, Nina offered no resistance, only a slight shock that this was actually happening to her. When he had finally completed this, he pulled Nina's arms out of the cotton lined sleeves gently and he began to ease the top off of her torso, lifting her to her feet while doing so. Carefully, he pulled the heavy skirt off of her hips so that the dark fabric pooled around her feet. Taking in her appearance, he smiled at the outstanding way the cream color of her corset stood boldly against the background of her starkly white shift and drawers.

Erik beckoned for her to stand closer to him and Nina's brow curved into a scowl when she saw that the Phantom had resurfaced in her friend's eyes. He had switched like Jekyll to Hyde into his evil self, though he still retained his kindness. He touched her with complete gentleness, Erik's gentleness to be exact, as if afraid he was going o hurt her. But the Phantom was a desperate man and he needed her.

Nina did as he said warily, Erik's presence torturing her. She wanted him completely but was disgusted with herself for wanting him and the ever looming idea of herself as a convent girl kept forming in her mind. This was another troubling thing to think about.

When Nina stood closely in front of him, Erik lifted her off of her feet and into his arms. She resisted him slightly, and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, being amazingly unsuccessful in her efforts, the Phantom's calm strength banishing all reasons of escape. In defeat, she wrapped her arms around his neck again, like a daughter being carried by her father, and he carried her to his bedroom.

In his room, Erik dropped Nina onto his bed and straddled her waist, pinning her arms beneath his knees and covering her mouth with his hand when she tried to speak. The only source of light in the room was the open door letting in the dim castings of the fire still crackling in the hearth where the ship servants had lit it during dinner. Nina found she had to strain her eyes to see Erik in this dark, but he saw her perfectly, no detail going missed by his supernatural eyes.

"Your body wants me now, I know this, I can see it clearly. My music has seduced you, I can see that as well, so don't you dare call this rape. Let me tell you something, _mon Rosette." _He paused, taking in deep breaths and running his free hand through her long dark hair, drifting his nimble fingers through tresses dampening with sweat. "Do you feel that?" He asked slowly, his hand abandoning her hair to grab her own hand to thrust it against his groin where a hardness was beginning to form. "Is this what you want, my dear, my little minx?" He paused again, his chest heaving up and down as his breaths became more and more ragged.

His intensity was contagious and a soft moan escaped from beneath Erik's hand, something that drove him even further into the madness of desire. He slid his legs from her arms so that they rested beside hers and pressed into her. Nina let out another moan when he placed his hands on her large breasts. He observed her every reaction with a mad fascination, afraid to miss any detail.

It was as if she did not want to do this but she had to do it. Nina knew that this was a sin, but every nerve in her body seemed to be screaming out, begging for this mans touch and right now she did not care much about sin as long as she got what she wanted. No, that wasn't right, what she _needed,_ she corrected herself.

"Can you imagine the things I want to do to you?" He continued, aligning them so that Nina felt his erection pressing against her, agonizingly separated by only a few layers of damnable clothing. "I warned you something like this would happen if you did not fear me."

Suddenly, and without explanation, Erik's entire body went limp on top of her and he removed his hand from her mouth. She wound her arms around his neck and held him to her while he buried his masked face in her chest, letting his head rest against her breast. She watched the ceiling while his breathing softened. His sex, however, still pressed against her.

"I will never fear you." She said softly, running a hand through his soft hair.

"If you saw my face you would. There has never been a person who hasn't looked in my face and felt fear."

"No." She answered, and he was silent.

He shifted a little bit and his stiffness struck her between the legs slightly. At this movement, she gasped and her hands tightened around his shoulders. Erik lifted himself up from her a little bit to remove himself from her and Nina felt like someone had just denied her life.

"What have you done to me?" Nina moaned, her toes curling, and the Phantom could not help but smile. "How have you done this? I would never have dreamed of anything like this before tonight. Why are you torturing me?"

He pressed into her again and Nina let out another moan, much to his delight. She was like a new instrument for him to master, making different noises at each of his touches. He was positive he could make her play a symphony.

"I want you, and you want me. Let me do us both a favor." His voice was rough and scratchy with want and it made a shiver run down Nina's spine.

"I would never be able to enter a convent if I was impure out of wedlock, Erik." She said, using every ounce of restraint in her being to not cry out an agreement and let him take her.

"Then I will make it appear that you are still pure." He said through gritted teeth, his voice still very much husky, and another chill ran down Nina's spine. He would make it _appear _she was still pure.

Erik placed his mouth against Nina's neck and she exclaimed a loud, high sigh and gripped his shoulders when he began to suck on her skin hard. She let out another wanton noise when he nipped her slightly and he began to press into her again, aligning his body perfectly to hers, growing even harder against her. She let out another moan, this one louder and more desperate and he removed his mouth from her neck for a moment to laugh at the vulnerable state he had put her in.

He paused from his pursuits for a moment and removed his gloves. Gripping the side of her breast with one hand, Nina felt Erik snake the other down her side where he rested it against her hip for a moment. Slowly, he moved his hand through the hem of her undergarments and began to touch the most sensitive part of her body, making her inhale sharply while her magnificent eyes widened in a shocked pleasure. Her stomach twisted and contracted in anticipation for what was next to come. When he did nothing after this for a few moments, Nina was sure she had gone into complete insanity while waiting for his further move.

"You're soaked." He commented, noticing the wetness between her legs. He was amused knowing that he had been the cause of this and he smiled darkly while she writhed beneath him making soft, distressed noises.

His fingers moved against her, at first with Erik's hesitance, worried that he would hurt her, but when she began to murmur her agreements, her voice high and airy, he grew more confident. The tips of his cold fingers moved faster in circular motions against the sensitive edge of her warm skin and she dug her fingernails into the back of his neck when she began to grow more and more wet at his touch. Nina's legs began to twitch beneath Erik's and they soon both became covered in a layer of sweat, his cold and hers hot, colliding in an intense chemical reaction. He placed his mouth on her neck again and kissed her there passionately, Nina still in waves of ecstasy at his chilling touch.

Still touching her with his icy fingers, Erik began to move against her in that mesmerizing rhythm that enchants all humans into pleasure, and Nina's cries increased several dynamics. His trousers began to become unbearably tight but he ignored this discomfort for the moment being. Pleasuring this girl was all the release he needed at the present time, though he would definitely have to relieve himself as soon as he was finished with her.

When the single most thrilling experience of her life began to come to its end, Nina gave another animalistic noise and gripped Erik's neck hard enough to leave bruises. When she let out one final high pitched moan as her soul exploded into a hybrid of pure bliss and ecstasy, Erik answered her with a deep, almost malevolent laugh: the laugh of the Phantom.

By the time she had finished, Nina had dug her nails into the back of Erik's neck so deeply that little red streams had started to run down his neck to either soak into his shirt or fall like scarlet rain onto her chest. He removed his hand from between her legs and attempted to wipe the fallen blood off of her, but he only succeeded in smearing it across the tops of her breasts. She could smell the rouge water that covered them both and it reminded her of the night she had been stabbed, though this time she did not gag at the salty smell.

Arching up from the bed with the last few reserves of strength she possessed, Nina kissed one of the marks she had left on Erik's neck softly and he sighed. She tried to kiss his mouth then but he pushed her back away from him, one strong hand on her shoulder. When her eyes filled with a hint of pain at this strange rejection, Erik to explain as well as he could.

"I just. . . I'm not ready for that. I'd never been kissed before. . . before a few days ago."

Nina nodded and tried her best to understand, though she really didn't. Wasn't what he had just given her much more intimate then a kiss?

"You should go take a bath." He said, lifting himself from her so that he laid on the bed beside Nina. They both stared at the ceiling.

"Why? I want to stay here with you." She said softly, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Well, for one, you should wash that blood off of you and two, just because you are relieved doesn't mean I am, if you understand what I'm saying."

Nina nodded slowly before sitting up, her head feeling dangerously light. When she stood up from the bed, she swayed alarmingly for a moment when she found it was not just her head that felt light. Her entire body felt so weightless it was like she had suddenly become the lightest feather. When she tottered out of the room Erik propped his head up against his arm, still smiling to himself. Now he didn't need to worry about her straying from him to any other man. If she wanted to pretend they were soul mates, he would let her. At least for as long as it suited him.

When he heard the water running in the room beside his, Erik began to unbutton his trousers slowly, his grin never waning knowing the memories of his Spanish rose beneath him would lay in his mind as vivid and fresh as if they had just happened.

In the bathroom, Nina slipped into the warm water of the bath and thought to herself in silence.

Surely this was a sign. But whether it was from heaven or hell she did not know. Had Erik's music been a product of Satan, or was it the music of an angel? Had the devil wrapped himself into her soul and given her sinful thoughts that drove her to sinful actions, or had God simply gone too far when directing Nina into Erik's direction? And then, if it had truly been the good Lord steering her into the arms of Erik, did that mean they were truly destined to be together? Were they lovers coated in sin, destined for hell, or a man and woman immersed in sin before marriage, the bond that would sanctify these evil acts?

Running a hand over the still present wound in her abdomen, she huffed out a careless sigh and decided not to ponder these thoughts any longer. She would ignore them and see how her life unraveled itself.

When Nina had scrubbed all of Erik's blood off of her chest, she stood and toweled herself dry, not bothering to even attack her hair, which had become impossibly tangled during her duet with Erik. She did not bother putting her undergarments back on and dressed herself in only a night gown. Modesty no longer seemed important around Erik.

When she was done redressing, Nina went back to Erik's room and found him lounged out on his bed, half asleep, watching the ceiling in silence, his hands tucked behind his head, his legs crossed. Curling up beside him beneath the covers, she placed a hand on his chest and soon fell asleep herself.


	16. Chapter 16

When Nina woke up the next morning Erik was still sleeping peacefully next to her, her hand possessively entwined in his hair as her head rested against his broad chest. She stared at him for a while, a blush coloring her face as she remembered the feeling of his cold fingers between her legs, stimulating the sensitive, virgin flesh there. Slowly, she caressed the handsome, maskless side of his face as he slept deeply, like a gentle mother watching her child as he slept. His cold breath swept across her cheek and she sat up slowly so she wouldn't disturb him.

Hearing a knock from the door that led to the corridor, Nina stood from the rumpled, white sheets and put on a wrap before padding out into the living room, closing Erik's bedroom door softly behind her so as not to disturb him. Opening the door, she found Phillipe Lefevre standing in the doorway, giving her a happy and slightly agitated smile, arms tucked behind his back in a peaceful gesture, his hair slightly ruffled as if he had not been paying enough attention to his appearance that morning when performing his daily grooming rituals.

"Breakfast?" He asked softly, ignoring her manner of undress.

"Oh, yes of course," She said, copying his smile. "Just let me put on something more appropriate."

He gave a small chuckle and she disappeared into her room to change out of the thin cotton nightgown and into a soft, simple brown dress. After running a brush through her hair, she stepped into the main room and found Phillipe seated in the chair Erik usually took before the fire. His legs were crossed neatly and he gave a sheepish smile up at her. Nina found with a strange sense that she did not like the sight of him replacing Erik before the fire. It was like replacing a tiger with a house cat.

"I hope you don't mind I invited myself in. I was wondering if we could perhaps. . . talk." On the last word he uttered, the young man's smile disappeared and he looked up at her seriously, a small bit of unhappiness tainting his eyes. She nodded and his innocent eyes drifted to the door of Erik's bedroom. "Your husband is not up yet?"

"No, he always sleeps well into the morning." Nina said, shaking her head, a small smile spreading across her full lips.

Sitting opposite him, she folded her hands into her lap and he looked at her a little morosely. His eyes caught site of the rosary around her neck and he found himself entranced by that fine piece of common jewelry.

"I have several confessions to make, I'm afraid." He said quietly, not taking his eyes away from that holy necklace.

"Confess away, Phillipe." Nina said seriously.

"Well, Nina, my dear," He said, taking her hands in his. "For one I have to say. . . I'm not married." The words tumbled out of Phillipe's mouth quickly. The more he spoke, the higher his voice got until he had to squeak out his last sentence. Before she could come up with a reply, he continued. "And I also must admit that, uh, that I have developed certain. . . feelings for you these past few days. I suppose I am a bit. . . infatuated."

Nina looked at the young man carefully as he awaited a reaction from her. His face was slightly flushed and his fair hair was slightly tussled, his soft green eyes looked slightly hurt, anticipating rejection from the supposedly married woman. He was fidgeting slightly in his seat and a grimace was plastered over his handsome face, making him appear homely, however this did not make him any less attractive. Nina had to admit to herself that she had a small crush on this boy with his kind words, helpful attitude, and charming persona.

"I see. . . ." She said softly, clasping her hands together and fingering the ring Erik had given her absentmindedly. "I also have a confession to make." Watching him as he watched her, Nina made a resolution to herself. If he told her he was not married, she should do likewise. It seemed only right. However, before she could tell Phillipe of her false matrimony, a distressed and guttural noise was heard from inside Erik's bedroom, muffled slightly from the closed door.

"Oh my God." Erik said to himself, frantically running a hand through his hair and sitting up from the white linen of his bed.

He could not believe himself. He had forced sexual relations on this innocent girl whom he barely knew. He had stolen purity from this girl who was barely a woman by seducing her with his unearthly music. The demon had touched this future convent girl.

"Oh my God." He repeated.

This act seemed a serious crime, one which he must be brought to justice for. He would jump off the deck of the boat, Erik told himself. It wasn't as clean as poison but it would be quite sufficient for what he needed to do. He had grown blind the past few days. The hazy half-romance he had been experiencing with Nina had clouded his eyes of the real reason he was going to England. He had forgotten for a moment who he was. The new mask had did this, it had made him begin to feel like a normal man and he certainly did not deserve that honor. Not when the reminder of what he really was was engraved forever into his face and soul. Just as Christine had said, the distortion was not only on his face but in his soul as well. Because of that he did not deserve to be a normal man, and he definitely did not deserve the company of a woman in his bed, even if they hadn't exactly consummated whatever relationship they had. Even laying beside her as they slept was a pleasure Erik felt he did not deserve.

Stepping up from the bed, he hastily buttoned his trousers which he had lazily left undone the night before after he had released himself and straightened his waist coat. Haphazardly he stumbled into the living room with all the grace of a new born giraffe. Nina and the young man looked up at him with vague surprise, still holding hands. Nina's face burned red as he stared at her, remembering the way he had looked at her the night before, like a man consumed with uttermost passion. Now he looked at her like a deer suddenly aware that it was being hunted, his gold eyes glistening over with a guilty fear.

"Niiinaaaaa." He moaned, his eyebrows curving upwards in anxiety. He stood in the middle of the room, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Slowly, he sunk to his knees and covered his face in his ungloved hands.

"Good Lord, Erik, what has gotten into you?" Nina stood from her seat and stepped over to him carefully. She was not surprised by his outburst as she had come to expect these from the unstable man, but she certainly did not want to deal with one now. Especially not with Phillipe as witness. Wrapping her arms around his emotional form, he buried his head into her chest and Nina gave an apologetic glance over his shoulder to Phillipe.

"Forgive me!" Erik begged her.

"Whatever for?" Nina asked, very aware of the young man still seated, awkwardly observing this piece of drama.

"You know very well what for." He said bitterly into her shoulder, and she blushed even further.

"Uh, Miseour Lefevre, would you mind waiting outside for a moment? Just outside the door? Yes, thank you." Nina said gratefully as the handsome young man quickly made his way out of the room, embarrassed to observe a man in such an exposing state.

Phillipe closed the door behind him with a small snap and leaned against the closed barrier. Behind him he could hear muffled voices. Though he could not make out distinct conversation, occasionally a few words drifted through the thick oak and into his ears. He hard the singular word forgiveness repeat itself several times in the man's strange voice, and monster was also produced multiple times. In addition he heard frequent sobs of anguish. In Nina's voice he heard only one word: Erik. The way she said it filled the boy with melancholy. He knew instantly from the smooth, calm tone of her voice that she was deeply in love with this emotional man. He felt a pang of misery in his heart and a slight pang of anger that some other lucky man had found this treasure before he had.

While he waited mixed in between sadness and irritation, the sobs and muffled conversation became quieter and less frequent until they stopped altogether. A wave of awkwardness overcame him as he imagined what might be happening behind the closed door. He suddenly understood Nina's husband's jealousy when another man cast his attention to her. Leaning against the door, he felt the slow, smoldering burn of envy work its way into his soul and he waited impatiently for somebody to let him back in so that he could see Nina again.

From inside the room, Phillipe heard another moan and he jumped away from the door bashfully. This was not the moan of distress he had heard from Nina's husband previously, but a gasping, prolonged moan of pleasure. The young man made to walk away as quickly as he could and return to his room, but before he could the door opened and a disheveled Nina appeared in the doorway, the bodice of her dress slightly askew. Leaning against the door jamb, she smiled up at him wearily and gestured him back inside the room. He followed her back into the dimly lit room and she collapsed back into her chair beside the empty fireplace. Nina watched calmly as her husband straightened his cravat and slid his arms through his jacket neatly. Phillipe seated himself back into the chair he had previously assumed and looked up at Nina's husband warily. Whatever had possessed him just now seemed to have vanished and he was functioning normally again. The strange man cast a frivolous glance to Phillipe and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing that something sexual had just passed between these two people.

"I'm going to get some fesh air." The mysterious man said to Nina and she nodded.

"Erik?" She said softly before he could leave the room.

"Yes?" He said, raising a now gloved hand to his forehead to rub his temple gently, granting her a deeply affectionate look, though it was not a look of love. She smiled broadly at him and Phillipe felt that he was interrupting a special moment between the two.

"I love you."

Erik stood for a moment watching Nina, shock clearly visible on his face.

"Yes." He said after a moment with a tired smile. From his seat, Phillipe could see deep scratches lacing across the man's neck and he could not help but glance at Nina's nails. All forms of love making were something of a mystery to him as he was strongly religious and strongly against premarital sex. Because of his virgin state, the young boy could not imagine that these scratches were made from pleasure and formulated that they must have been produced in some form of self defense. He wondered if these scratches had anything to do with his pleads for forgiveness. Phillipe found that he did not much like Nina's husband.

Without further speech, Erik left through the door and Nina rested her chin on the palm of her hand with a sigh, watching his retreating form.

Phillipe watched her for a dreamy moment, perplexed by her sudden sorrow, wondering exactly what was going on between her and her husband.

"He does not love you?" He murmured. He had not meant to say it aloud and instantly cursed himself.

Sitting up straighter, Nina looked up at the young man in front of her and suddenly remembered their discussion.

"No. He loves another woman." She said solemnly and the dark circles beneath her eyes suddenly became obviously visible. Nina had not slept much the night before. She had kept waking up to watch Erik's gentle sleeping form beside her. Combined with the exhaustive efforts she had participated in the night before, she was very tired. And then there had been incident just now when she had had to calm Erik down. . . .

"I would not do such a thing." Phillipe stated boldly, clenching his hands. "You are a beautiful woman, you do not deserve to go unloved."

Nina shook her head in quiet disagreement and her violet eyes glittered.

"What we were talking about?" She asked, shaking her head slowly.

"Confessions" He whispered, taking her hands in his again.

"Oh. Yes. Confessions." Nina paused thoughtfully and her small hands moved within Phillipe's. "Whatever I had to confess to is no longer important." She finished curtly.

Phillipe felt a prick of disappointment. Somewhere in his young, romantic, poetic mind, he had hoped that Nina returned his feelings and that they would elope dramatically, escaping from some villain, figuratively Nina's mysterious, envious, and short tempered husband. In the silly fantasy he had created he had imagined Nina as a princess in need of rescuing, and he himself the prince who would rescue her. Such a strange and ridiculous idea can only be the product of a mind lost deeply in the throws of infatuation, by far the easiest snare to become tangled in, and the hardest to escape. It is easier to cope with the agony of seeing the object of your affections with another man by picturing that other man as a vile being.

This disappointment filled Phillipe's eyes with a dark emptiness and Nina felt suddenly uncomfortable. She shook his hands away from hers and buried them deep within the skirts of her dress.

"We are docking today." He said stonily, his eyes unblinking as he looked into her own.

"Yes."

"If you should ever be in need of a lawyer." He said casually, and he broke into a grin. She copied him and the room lost its uncomfortable atmosphere as he handed her a little business card with his name and address on it. Nina and Phillipe both began to laugh and he threw his arms around her in a lanky embrace, holding her closely.

"Will I ever see you again?" He murmured, still holding her.

"Who knows?" She answered. "Our Lord works in mysterious ways."


	17. Chapter 17

"We're in England! England!" Shouted Nina, gazing at the clouded Dover sky while spinning around on the uneven boards of the docks, her hands held above her head reaching out to the sky.

Erik watched her while she twirled happily, smiling at the ecstatic girl and shaking his head slightly. She stopped suddenly, feeling the swirls of dizziness start to whirl around in her head, and she stretched her arms out wide and grinned at the motionless man in front of her.

"I'm home." Nina said with a happy sigh.

"Yes." Erik said, motioning a cab driver over to where the two stood. The scruffy man picked up their luggage and began to lug it over to his little buggie, grunting under the weight.

"Are you going to miss it?" She asked softly, wrapping her hand around Erik's arm as he stared back out at the vast sea, gently sloshing over the rocks that lay soundly beneath the dock. In the distance he could hear gulls crying and the various noises of fisherman and ship passengers added to the conversation. Anchor chains being drawn could be heard in the distance and somewhere far away a woman laughed, her voice high and happy. There was a sailor absentmindedly whistling some sea chanty and the soft sounds of children's' footsteps could be heard running back and forth against the weather beaten wooden boards that made up the docks. Erik's eyes were narrowed in concentration, listening to the charming combination of sounds uniting to become the soothing melody of the sea. His eyes fluttered shut as the musical genius in him began to formulate plans for a new piece, inspired by this unique phenomenon peculiar only to water ports. Cymbal crashes would become waves crashing against rocks and flutes would become sirens sitting on rocks, luring unsuspecting men to their deaths, just as his own siren had.

"Miss what?"

"France." Nina said simply.

"No."

"But it was your home."

"It was a place where I lived." Erik said sharply. "That does not mean it was my home."

The sounds of the opera house came to his mind and Erik sighed. The musicians practicing their parts in the orchestra pit, the chorus members singing to themselves quietly in the hall on their way to practice, the happy applause of the audience after each act of an opera finished, the sound of his organ, his violin, echoing through the caverns beneath the Opera Populaire, Madame Giry's fearsome voice cutting through the air, giving orders, even the gossiping voices of the ballet brats. They flooded his mind and he recalled them solemnly. An image of Christine singing for her angel in front of her mirror cloaked his closed eyes.

He would miss it.

He was silent for a while and Nina did not press him further, not wanting to provoke his temper. He seemed weary enough from the shock he had received that morning and it had been hard enough to calm him down. And then, ever since he had gotten back to the room after going out to get some fresh air, he had been moody, distant. She could not help thinking it had something to do with her telling him she loved him. Though she had not expected him to, it still bothered her slightly that he had not returned her confession.

Instead of holding him by the arm as they waited for their escort, Nina traveled her hand downwards and gripped his hand like a lover. She had half expected him to yank away from her, but instead he squeezed her hand tightly in his own.

"Did you mean it?" He asked quietly, his face somber and serious.

"Mean what?"

"When you said you loved me. Do you really?"

"Why would I lie? You've entranced me."

"I've never been loved before." He said bitterly, raising her hand to the masked part of his face. "Nobody could love this."

"I do. I love you."

Before Erik could reply, the cabbie gestured them over to his taxi and Erik helped Nina through the narrow wooden door of the carriage before climbing in himself. Instead of sitting across from her as he usually did, he took the seat next to her and placed his hand over her knee. Happily, she leaned against him and rested her head against his shoulder.

Though Erik did not want to believe her, he knew she was not lying. If she did not love him, she would have not taken the drastic measures required to calm him down on the ship. When he remembered exactly what Nina had done after she had ushered the Lefevre boy out of their room, the Phantom in him felt a rush of narcissistic pride. He knew it was no longer lust that controlled this daughter of God, but love. If she did not love him she would not have begun to stray so far from the virtuous path of chastity, though he supremely doubted that she would ever actually make love to him. No, she was no slut, Erik mused to himself. Merely a vixen in need here and there of someone to release her. And if the Phantom was present he would be that someone.

"Did you know, _mon Rosette, _that you are in love with a man you barely know? You have never even seen my face before."

"Then let me see your face."

"You wouldn't love me if I did. And I don't want to lose that. It feels. . . good." He sighed.

Nina felt her eyes begin to tear over and she raised the blue orbs to the roof of the taxi, willing her tears to vanish. Never having been loved was something she could not imagine. Her mother had loved her, and her mother's husband as well before he died. Her real father had even loved her and Victor and Emily adored her almost as much as they adored each other. But Erik had never been loved, and she believed him when he said so. The way he talked about his mother made her know instantly that the wretched woman loathed him. Although, she wondered if Christine had ever loved him. Erik certainly did not think so, but he had needed reassurance when she had told him so. Perhaps Christine had just never given him reassurance.

While she banished her tears, Nina did not say anything else and Erik stroked her leg silently.

They sat in the motionless carriage for a while. As silent minutes passed by Erik became anxious and began to wonder what was taking the cab driver so long.

"Hey, Driver, I want to be in London by tonight!" He said, banging on the wall opposite him to get the man's attention.

A door opened abruptly and both Erik and Nina jumped slightly. A man in a navy blue uniform stood in the doorway, the pompous sneer only capable of a policeman spread across his face. In his hand he clutched two pieces of paper, rolled neatly into twin cylinders in his hand. His eyes gifted Nina an unappeased glance before returning their unhappy reign to Erik.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you a few questions before you're on your way, sir." He said, treating both of them with the politeness of the law enforcement. This particular officer had been summoned from London to add extra parole to the streets ans was not at all happy with his change of atmosphere. Amongst the filthy, crime plagued streets of London, all officers must treat each and every person with suspicion. To this man, every citizen was a possible criminal. Each man was a cut throat, each woman was a whore, and each child was, as the French say, a _gamin, _little brats bred from the dregs of the gutter, the bane of the police, their main profession being pit-pocketing.

"Ask away." Said Erik calmly.

It is important to note that while Erik possessed a calm exterior, in his mind he was a nervous wreck. Surely this police officer was here to survey the docks for the Phantom, there could be no other explanation. It was stupid to come to England, Erik told himself, the authority would be expecting that.

"A criminal has been on the loose the past few weeks. He is a convicted rapist, thief, and murderer. Have you seen any personal resembling this man?" The officer spat, meanwhile unrolling one of the rolls of paper. He held it up and the pair in the carriage observed a poster of a bald man whose head was covered in tattoos of snakes, spiders, and other various creature of the night. Erik almost slapped himself in the face.

"We havn't seen him, I'm afraid." He said quietly, observing the poster with distaste. "Now we'd very well like to be on our way."

"Just one more thing." The surly officer said, re-rolling the little poster and unrolling the other one. "This one is also a rapist and murderer. He is believed to be coming here from France where he lived underneath an opera house. He tormented the people there, particularly the managers and one ballet girl. I warn you before you see his profile, he is monstrously deformed. The lady should look away, I think."

Erik felt a warm hand grip the side of his leg and the man held up the paper. He nearly laughed at the caricature. It was grotesque, but it looked nothing like him. The man whose face he was looking into had no nose to speak of, only a gaping hole in the middle of his face, and his eyes were grossly mis-proportioned and sunken deep into his misshapen skull. There was no hair at all atop his bare head and the portrait glowered at its viewers, its lips twisted, thin and malformed. Whoever the description artist was that had made this illustration had probably decided to get his interviews from the ballet brats.

"He may have appeared wearing a white mask." The man added and both Erik and Nina shook their heads.

"We have not seen either man." Erik said.

Narrowing his eyes, the police officer looked closely at Erik, his head inclined slightly, his wide nostrils flaring. Nina likened this stance to a ram about to charge and the man's dark eyes traveled over Erik's face, taking in every aspect, including the strange meeting place where mask melted into flesh. He parted his lips slowly as if to comment on this for a terrifying moment, but then closed them, much to both Erik and Nina's relief. He took a step back from the carriage, his boots crunching over gravel, and she watched him warily like he was a strangely behaving dog, twitching slightly with possible disease. The officer caught attention of her stare but ignored her, passing her off as just another nervous woman.

"Very well." The man said sharply, folding his arms behind his back neatly. "If you should see either men contact the police brigade at once. It is highly important to get both of these men into custody." His thick eyebrows twitched upwards. "Sociopaths never change."

"No. They don't." Erik agreed.

"Have a safe journey."

The police officer shut the carriage door and Erik immediately let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. Nina's hand was still placed on his leg reassuringly and, with her other hand, she gripped his gloved one carefully, massaging it comfortingly.

"It's okay." She murmured softly into his ear.

"No, it's not."

"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Sociopaths never change."

To her dismay, he moved to the seat across from her and buried himself sulkily in the corner. Nina sighed and Erik looked up at her. His eyes were cold.

"I'm going to kill again. It's inevitable."

Nina wanted to contradict him but knew it would be useless. There would be no bringing him out of this mood. It was something he would have to do himself.

The carriage began moving.

"I do not look like that." Erik said quietly, more to himself than to her. He was resting his head against the door, his eyes looking out at the dreary landscape gloomily through the crack between the curtain and the window. It was a typical rainy English day, further adding to his sullen state.

"I know." Nina said. She had procured her leather bound book of saints again and had sunk back into it.

"How do you know?" He asked, his tone inexplicably hostile.

She explained silently, her hand reaching out confidently and tapping him softly on the bridge of his nose. Raising her fingers to his hair line, she ran them through his soft, dark locks, emanating a small, happy sigh. Her hand then traveled to his lips, outlining their perfect, whole shape carefully, lovingly. Letting her hand fall to his shoulder to grip him there, she felt something cool and round beneath his shirt. Without saying a word, her fingers curiously reached through the collar of his shirt and pulled out the string of pearls she had given him. Needing no explanation, she smiled at him and removed her hand from his person, returning to her stories of God and his son.

* * *

><p><strong>I apologize for the short chapter. I've been very preoccupied with my other story lately and I was recently cast in the role of Lucy in Jekyll and Hyde: The Musical so I've been really focusing on rehearsals for that. <strong>

**Excuses, excuses, I know readers. Thank you as always for favoriting (that's not a real word, shhh), reading and reviewing. It really means a lot to me. TTFN.  
><strong>


	18. Chapter 18

"It's raining too hard to find your friends' estate tonight. I'll take you there tomorrow, first thing in the morning."

Nina nodded tiredly as Erik shared his plans with her, deeply invested in a number of paper strewn out around the carriage seat. They had only stopped once all day to eat and her legs were cramped from sitting all day, stuffed up in the little fiacre. She was drowsy, hungry, irritated and willing to do whatever Erik said so long as she was freed from this mobile prison soon. Along with this, her corset felt uncomfortably tight and she was beginning to feel ill from the constant jostling of the carriage.

Suddenly, Erik looked up, a flicker of electricity passing through his eyes.

"There's going to be a storm tonight." He said. "A large one."

"How can you tell?" She asked, slowly.

Erik shrugged and went back to leafing through his papers.

"We'll go to my home tonight and rest there."

Nina nodded again, lazily, and she rested her head against the door of the carriage and tried to doze, although it was in vain; the motion of the fiacre made her feel nauseous. She made a sickened face and Erik looked up at her, his golden eyes flashing with concern.

"If I have to stay in this thing for another moment I'm going to be sick." She explained, cracking her neck in an un-ladylike fashion.

"Well, that won't be a problem. We're nearly there."

"What? Really?" Nina said excitedly, immediately sitting up straight and drawing back the little curtains that fanned out in front of the window beside her. She looked out the small, transparent square to view the dim, flickering lights of the city of London. Though this ugly city was a truly miserable place to observe, she surveyed it ecstatically and Erik could not help but be touched by her joy. She watched for a long time until the lights began to fade even further and the carriage slowed to a complete stop in front of a dark, lonely looking brick house. She shifted happily in her seat while Erik gathered his papers, jumping when the driver opened the door suddenly.

"432 Heather lane." He said gruffly.

Without a word, Erik stepped out of the mobile and proceeded to help Nina exit it as well. Stretching her legs joyously, Nina looked up at the brick house while Erik settled the bill with the driver. To her far left she thought she heard tavern music and the telltale sounds of alcohol slurred voices in the distance. Her wide eyes examined the grave structure. Though she was not sure why, it filled her with a sudden sense of melancholy. The garden, though plain and completely desolate of any flowers, seemed regularly cared for. Behind this boring garden stood the house, which sat on the lawn solidly, without a light to be seen anywhere. Anyone who looked past it would know that it had not been occupied in years. Though it seemed lonely, it was layed out expectantly, as if hoping for a visitor to come inside its walls.

Behind her, Nina heard the carriage take its leave and she felt a commanding arm wrap itself around her waist. Erik rested his chin on her shoulder and sighed softly, looking at his England estate for the first time. For legal purposes, as he always told himself, Erik owned several houses around the world, though he had never visited them except for once when he had gone to a small house in Germany for six months after he had shattered the chandelier at the Opera Populaire. He had had a number of reasons for going here, though his main one was to find a substance to make his new mask of. He had found there a strange kind of rubber, imported from some exotic country. Though Erik did not know it himself, he had also left France for sometime to clear his mind of the image of Christine and the fop kissing on the rooftop. It had not been his best decision to leave for this particular person, as he had left his angel the perfect opportunity to be courted by the boy. He had been infuriated when he returned to find that the two had become secretly engaged, angry more at himself for letting it happen than at Christine and the boy.

Slowly, it began to rain.

"Come now, _mon Rosette. _Let's go inside. You're exhausted."

"Yes." Nina agreed, quietly, and she picked up her suitcase which had been left by the cab driver on the curb.

Opening a creaky, rusted gate which circled the property, Erik and Nina stepped onto the walkway. In this enclosure, the air seemed strangely stale, like it had not been disturbed for some time, and it produced a strange effect on Nina. She could no longer hear the noises to her left and the silence unnerved her. As he stood in the long deserted doorway and produced a key from his jacket, Erik opened the portal to his new home and ushered her inside. Setting her bag on the dusty, hardwood floor, Nina felt a wave of fatigue crash over her and Erik caught her weak form just as she was about to fall.

"You are as helpless as a child." He told her, a broad, tired smile taking place on his face.

Nina muttered an unintelligible protest and buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent calmly. With a furtive sigh, he carried her in his arms and up a narrow flight of stairs where he led himself down a hall, seemingly knowing the entire layout of the house well, almost as if he had lived there his entire life. Pushing open a door with his foot, Nina found herself being placed on a small bed, extravagantly clothed with damask coverings. Gently, he removed her blouse and skirt and dropped them to the floor, leaving her in her underclothes. Before turning back the bed clothes and covering her in their protection, he checked her wound and found it to be healing well.

With the reassurance that her only ailment was tiredness, Erik turned to leave but as a clap of thunder roared and a bolt of lightning illuminated the dark room, he found a hand gripping his arm firmly.

"Stay with me." She said quietly, suddenly afraid to be left alone in this eerily new environment.

Another streak of lightning crashed light into the room and Nina's eyes glittered, sending a strange but persuasive feeling into Erik's soul. The moment he saw her violet eyes illuminated, he knew he would not be able to deny her request.

Slowly, he removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat, setting them on the floor next to her abandoned articles of clothing. He slipped beneath the coverlets beside her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Feeling slightly uncomfortable in her embrace, he coughed once and shifted slightly, hinting for her to remove her arms from his person. She did not take the hint as she had already fallen asleep, lulled by the sounds of the rain beating against the large window to the right of the bed.

Though he was used to his regular nocturnal habits, Erik was thoroughly worn out by the previous night's events and the incident that had occurred that morning. In her arms, he fell asleep within minutes.

* * *

><p>"Up! NOW!" Shouted a deep, scratchy voice and Nina sat up immediately, the light or morning making her eyes burn. A dark skinned man stood in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed over his chest menacingly. His thick eyebrows were arched into a scowl and Nina noticed he was dressed quite fashionable in a brown frock coat that came down to his knees. His dark hair was hidden beneath a fur cap and his jade eyes were narrowed angrily. "What is this? Who are you, strange woman?"<p>

Ignoring this man, Nina turned to Erik who was still sleeping beside her and gently shook him awake. "Erik, there's a man in the room." She said, sleepily, laying back down beside him and pulling the covers up over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light.

Erik looked up at the man in the doorway lazily and, after a moments uninterested observation, he threw a thick pillow at the man, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Leave me alone, daroga. I'm tired."

Nadir stood in the doorway, his arms dropping to his waist as his jaw dropped open in a similar fashion.

"Erik?" He exclaimed, jumping over to the bedside with impeccable speed.

"Can't you see I'm slightly preoccupied?" He muttered, glaring up at the Persian man who stood looking down at him.

"But I thought you were dead! And what has happened to your face? You look almost normal! And who is this?"

Nina groaned as the strange man continued to chatter, and she buried her face in Erik's side in an attempt to drown his noise out.

Seeing he would not be able to sleep anytime soon, Erik sat up and stepped out of the bed, picking up his clothes from the floor and putting them back on as best as he could. He walked out of the room without a word and the Persian man followed him.

"I thought you were squatters," Explained the dark skinned man, continuing to follow Erik as he made his way down the stairs. "So I went in to kick you out. When I saw in the papers what had happened at the opera I thought for sure you were dead. But who is that girl? She cannot possibly be Christine. She doesn't even come close to your description of her." He continued to ramble on as Erik navigated his way into the kitchen and started taking out various pots. "Is she a prostitute?"

Nadir suddenly found himself hoisted into the air by his neck, his feet struggling to meet the floor as he gasped for breath, his airway constricted by Erik's hand.

"She is _not _a prostitute!" Erik proclaimed dangerously, not relinquishing his grip on the other man's neck.

"She's not a prostitute, she's not a prostitute!" Rasped the Persian man, jumping on an agreement so Erik would release him.

After his feet had been replaced on the ground, Nadir rubbed his neck and stayed silent, watching Erik as he rifled through several cabinets until he pulled out a can of coffee triumphantly. He proceeded to prepare it and the Persian man decided it safe enough to talk again.

"What is going on, Erik? Why are you here?"

"I will explain in a moment. Just let me drink my damn coffee." Drumming his fingers on the counter top and waiting for his sustenance to brew, Erik closed his eyes and yawned. Taking a seat at a small, wooden table, Nadir sat opposite him and doffed his hat before folding his hand gently. "She's a friend." He said, quietly.

"A friend whom you share a bed with?" Nadir asked carefully, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground.

"Yes." Erik answered before letting out a frustrated groan. "No. I don't know. I don't know what she is!"

"Did you. . . sleep with her?" Nadir inquired.

"No. Not exactly. . . ."

Hearing the two men's voices downstairs and missing Erik's presence, Nina sat up wearily and surveyed her surroundings. Just like the bed, every piece of furniture in the room was spectacularly elegant, befit for a queen. There was a gilded dressing table, a harpsichord set before the wide window, a plush settee with a table sat in front of it, an armoire no doubt filled with dozens of expensive gowns, a jeweled separator, little white lace curtains in the window, a golden clock hung on the wall, and a multitude of other damask items spread about the room. A room meant for a woman of nobility, Nina thought to herself.

"Meant for Christine!" She whispered aloud, jolting awake.

Jumping up from the bed with a sudden new energy, Nina redressed herself as quickly as possible, not wanting to remain in that room any longer. She had a strange and irrational fear that Christine would come at any moment and claim her room after scorning Nina thoroughly for having occupied it.

Following the various metallic clatters that rang through the house, she traveled to the kitchen and heard her name just as she was about to push her way through the door. Though she knew it was rude to eavesdrop, she could not stand not knowing what they were talking about as long as it concerned her.

"-said she loves me." Erik said.

"Do you love her?"

"It's ridiculous. She only thinks she's in love with me. It's just some stupid infatuation, I'm sure. If she saw my face she would loathe me." Erik spat. "I'm confused." He confided, his voice soft, mourning. "I love Christine."

"Christine is not yours." The other man said harshly, and Nina half expected Erik to start shouting at him. She was surprised when he did not.

"I know. That is why I am doing this, I think. I can't bear the thought of being alone while she has that damn boy."

"You're going to hurt that girl if you don't figure things out fast."

"I know." Erik whispered. "I know."

They were silent and, sensing their conversation was over, Nina stepped into the room and used all of her remaining strength to smile at Erik, pretending she had not heard what he had just said. Though she retained a calm exterior, on the inside she felt part of her growing cold. He was only pursuing a relationship with her to comfort himself while his real love walked off with someone else. Instead of the thought crushing her like it would most woman, Nina seemed to feel nothing at all, only that cold numbness filling her up to the brim of her soul.

"Haven't we met before?" She asked Nadir, smiling at him as well.

"Why, yes I do believe we have." He played, returning his smile and kissing her hand politely. "Nadir Khan."

"Nina Ward. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Charming. Simply charming."

Nina joined them at their table and observed the Persian man openly, feeling Erik's eyes burn into her. Nadir felt suddenly uncomfortable under the watch of her strange eyes and stood up, his face flustered.

"Well, I should be returning to work." He said. "I think we shall meet later today?"

"Sometime." Answered Erik distantly, not taking his eyes off of the girl seated beside him.

The man nodded and murmured a goodbye to Nina before stepping out of the room.

"He's even madder than the last time I saw him." He muttered to himself.

In the kitchen, Nina and Erik watched each other, both feeling ill at ease under one another's gaze. Subsequently, they stood up and Erik narrowed his eyes at her, sensing something was wrong. Though he did not question her about this intuition, he made an attempt to run a hand through her hair but she grabbed his hand by the wrist before he fingers even brushed the raven strands.

"Nina," He said. "What is the matter?"

"Nothing."

"I. . . ."

Erik attempted to touch her again and this time she offered no resistance. However, her hair under his fingers seemed to scald his flesh as if her hair were actually made of black flame. Likewise, Nina's blue eyes sparked like two hot coals suddenly thrust into a bottomless pit of water. Erik recalled stories of woman who had the power to hypnotize men and he suddenly felt himself leaning towards her face. While staring into her cruelly set, unblinking eyes, his masked face brushed hers, though their lips did not meet.

Just as he was about to separate the space between them, Nadir burst back through the door. Erik, with the amazing reflexes of a cat, jumped back away from Nina in one undetectable motion. The Persian, who stood watching them warily, did not even guess the two had been so near each other.

"Forgot my hat." He said, slowly, swiping back the fur cap off the table where it had been left. Without saying a word he left.

Erik returned his vision to Nina, though whatever had possessed him was lost.

"We should be leaving now if you want to see your friends."

"Yes." She agreed, her voice devoid of emotion.

Watching him as he cleaned up the kitchen, Nina felt history repeating itself. Hadn't the same thing happened with Rousseau? Hadn't she thought she loved him before everything went black?

Perhaps I do not love him after all, she mused to herself bitterly.

* * *

><p><strong>Kaya Nah, forgive me for my errors. The way I spell Monsieur is the way it is usually spelled in German literature, which is my primary reading materials. As for the other error, I haven't spoken French fluently for a <em>very <em>long time, since I was about ten actually, so feel free to laugh at all the mistakes. XD If anyone finds any other errors tell me and I****'ll try to prevent them in the future. I would be so grateful.  
><strong>

**Thank you readers and reviewers. You make my day. **


	19. Chapter 19

"This is. . . your friends' address? Are you quite sure?"

Erik looked up at the manor in front of him. It's walls were painted white and a large garden seemed to overflow across the little brick walls that surrounded it. Here and there little tendrils of ivy laced themselves across the bricks, entwining over them peacefully. A lush lawn spread across the grounds, charmingly coated with a thin layer of frost, and every now and then the chirps of winter birds flooded his ears. The house's windows were draped from the inside with little white curtains, giving evidence that a woman lived there. Everything here seemed to radiate happiness.

"Quite sure." Nina said curtly. Since she had overheard Erik and Nadir's conversation that morning she had only been giving short answers to his questions and only spoke to him when it was required. And then there was the incident where he had _almost _kissed her. _Almost._ Left completely puzzled by her sudden distance, he had made several attempts to soothe her from this mood, all in vain. She would have none of it, and her bad mood had put him in a bad mood. On top of that, Erik had a pounding head ache, putting him dangerously near an outburst.

Beside her, Nina heard Erik sigh and she glanced over at him. In this white, picturesque place, the man cloaked in black seemed miserable against this joyous background, like a bat mistaken for a songbird and put in a gilded cage. "Come on then, Erik. I'm anxious."

With a broad smile at the prospect of reunion with her friends, Nina allowed Erik to take her arm in his and lead her to the large front door of this house. Calmly, Erik took the brass knocker in his hand and the winter birds suddenly took flight, disturbed by the knocking that filled the air. She waited impatiently for a moment, shifting from foot to foot after giving a furtive sigh. Erik gripped her hand tightly, annoyed by her fidgeting, and she stopped, her eyes narrowing in irritation. While they waited for somebody to open the door, the two exponentially grew weary of each other until he let go of her arm and she inched away from him.

A door opened and a disheveled looking servant man stood in the doorway, his black uniform oddly askew over his thin torso, a black cap covering his head of brown hair. Beneath his waistcoat, Erik could see the dangling white threads of a Jewish prayer shawl. With his round lenses glinting in the winter light, he gave them a fleeting smile, hands tucked politely behind his back.

"I apologize for the wait, Sir, Madame. May I help you?" The man's alto voice seemed unnaturally high, but Erik ignored this as he still appeared to be quite young, barely out of boyhood by the size of his narrow shoulders and height.

Before either person could answer, a tall, strikingly handsome man pushed his way past the doorkeeper, looking equally disheveled as the other man. His fair hair seemed illuminated by the weak sun and he was dressed as fine as any man of the bourgeoisie. Blue eyes raked over Nina and the man seemed to falter for a moment before his eyes filled with supreme glee and he broke into a pretty smile, revealing perfect white teeth.

"Nina!" He nearly shouted, taking her hand and leading her inside the manor. After a moment's hesitation, Erik followed her inside and the servant man looked at him curiously, biting his lower lip in concentration. Shaking his head as if banishing a strange thought, he took Erik's cloak silently and stood away from the reunion respectfully, absentmindedly running a and over the tassels of his prayer shawl.

"Victor!" She said, equally as loud. The two embraced each other happily and the man called Victor kissed her on the cheek, lovingly. At this intimate contact, Erik felt a sneaking burn of envy rip through him. He did not like this man going near Nina as much as any other man. He viewed all men as threats, things capable of taking from him what was rightfully his. He had not been wary enough before and that was one of the factors leading up to Christine's betrayal. I'll be damned if I let that happen again, Erik proclaimed to himself. Damned even further, that is. I'm already going to Hell. But who on earth was this man? He seemed much too close to Nina to be just friends. No, there was something more between them, a hint of attraction perhaps, a spark of electricity. Tension.

"Oh, Emily and I were so worried for you!" Victor said, holding Nina's face in his hands. "We wrote so many letters but you never wrote back."

"I never got any letters." Nina said gravely and Victor released her.

"You must explain later. Oh, I have so many questions. And who is this?" He asked, noticing the man cloaked in black for the first time.

"This is my. . . ." Nina trailed off, suddenly lost. Who was Erik to her? "This is my friend, Erik." She finished, quietly.

"I see. It is a pleasure to meet you, Erik. I am Victor Finch."

"Pleasure." Erik murmured, shaking the younger man's hand.

"Oh, Nina! Wait 'till you see! Come this way, quickly. You too, Erik!"

Victor took each person's hand in his own and dragged the pair down a long hallway and into a well-furnished salon. At least a dozen woman sat on plush stools and settees, or in well adorned armchairs and sofas. They were all obviously of an aristocratic nature, their hair styled in intricate curls and pinned back with jeweled clips and combs, each dress they wore was tailor made and of the latest fashion, all in popular colors for that season. These flowery, delicate woman were all gathered around one particular jewel, a woman with hair the color of sand and a dress of powder blue. One slender hand was place over her abdomen, which was swollen in the process of carrying a child. Seeing this woman, who was obviously Victor's wife, Erik felt a rush of relief. The handsome man was not available to court Nina, not with both a spouse and child.

"Nina!" This woman exclaimed, her soprano voice filled with joy, her pale face illuminating with happiness.

"Emily!" Nina exclaimed in return, stepping over to the woman's side and giving her a careful embrace. "Oh, I had no idea. I'm so happy for you!"

"Yes, isn't it wonderful? But Nina, we were so worried. Where in the world have you been?"

Nina straightened and took a glance at the woman in the room, their heads all inclined towards her gently, listening intently to every word that was passed between them.

"It's a long story." She said with a faltering smile. "I'll tell you later."

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Ah, Emily, ladies, this is Nina's friend, Erik." Victor said, gesturing towards the man cloaked in black, who had slipped into the farthest corner of the room. Erik grimaced at them in an attempt to smile and more than one woman did not miss the opportunity to bat their eyelashes at him and smile welcomingly. His darkness in this room full of light had a strange appeal to them. He seemed a handsome villain.

"Hello, Erik." One brave woman with red hair said. "Won't you sit with us?" She asked flirtatiously, patting the empty seat next to her on one of the damask sofas. Without a word, he sat next to this woman, his posture unnaturally rigid. To these women's dismay, they noticed a plain gold band on his wedding ring finger.

Nina and Victor sat on either side of Emily, smiling happily.

"Thank God you're here, Erik." Victor said, humorously. "I know it isn't really proper for men to be at a baby shower, but I've been drowning in a sea of estrogen all morning." The bubbly laughter of these aristocratic women filled the room and Erik felt himself clench his teeth. He had come here today to bring Nina to her friends, not to sit around being ogled by a bunch of girls.

"I think I'll just step out for a moment." He said quietly, and each woman felt a swoon at the sound of his silken voice, their cheeks immediately turning rosy with a feeling they could not comprehend. If someone had looked near the door, they would have noticed the servant narrowing his eyes and cocking his head to one side.

"Of course. Anshel will show you out." Victor said.

The servant man from before stepped out from the corner where he had been standing and held the door of the room open for Erik. Leaving the room full of woman behind him, he followed the young servant through several hallways before he pushed open a heavy oaken door for him, opening a portal to the garden through the wall. Erik stepped into the doorway, but, after a moment of thought, turned to look at the servant closely. Suddenly, he reached out and pulled the young man towards him, receiving much resistance as the servant attempted to shove him away with weak arms, failing as he did so. Erik examined him through narrowed, gold eyes and a light seemed to go off suddenly.

"Yes," He whispered menacingly. "I know what you are. I know exactly what you are."

"Then you must find it protocol to release me, sir." Anshel spat, baring strangely canine teeth.

Erik did as he commanded and released the servant. The young man stepped away from him, his chest huffing up and down as if extremely alarmed, and he straightened the uniform around his chest as if paranoid. Calmly, his hand dropped down to run his slim fingers over the tassels of his shawl.

"Just because you are here in England does not mean you are safe, sir." He panted, chin raised defiantly. "It so happens that I read the foreign news section of the papers. I know exactly who you are as well, Monsieur _Fantome_."

"How did you find out?" Erik asked quietly, his glorious voice rough with curiosity. .

"How did _you _find out?" Anshel said, his breathing returning to normal.

"It would be obvious to any man as observant as me." Erik said coolly.

"The same goes for me, sir." The servant said, grinning bitterly, and giving a slight bow of his head so that his black cap slipped over his forehead. "I have an eye for men like you."

"As I have an eye for. . . _people _like you."

Deep within him, Erik felt a growing respect for this person who had seen through his facade. They were each lost in their own masquerade of sorts, lost in disguises to protect themselves. He could only wonder why this person was hiding themself. Something passed between these two men. They could relate to each other in the sense that they were both hiding their identities. Both of them gave a short nod to each other and the young servant man had the courage to smile mischievously and cross his arms over his chest. Erik and Anshel seemed to have a silent understanding that they would not inform on each other.

"We are agreed then? Neither of us will expose one other?"

"Only so long as everyone _stays in good health._ Particularly the people in my master's household and your young lady. I have not been here long, but I know they are good people. I wouldn't want to see them in bad situations." Anshel said, his brown eyes intense and his mouth set seriously.

"Very well." Erik agreed, mimicking the young servant and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Call me when you're ready to come back inside, sir. I'll be waiting just inside."

"That isn't needed. I'll be able to navigate myself through this house well enough."

"As you wish, sir." He said. "Just remember to keep your ropes to yourself."

Inside the parlor room, Nina had caught up on the last few month of Victor and Emily's lives. It had been charmingly boring, the only events worth noting being Emily's pregnancy. She was well into her fourth month and the two were hoping for a boy. Quickly, the party began to break up as woman after woman left for home, picked up by husbands, brothers, or fathers coming from their work. It was not a half hour after Nina and Erik had arrived that they were left as the only remaining guests in the household.

"Now tell us, Nina, what has become of you? How have you gotten back to England? What has happened to Armand?" Victor asked, taking the seat opposite her and folding her hands in his own.

"Please, do not say that name to me." She said gravely. "Rousseau is not who anyone thinks he is. That bastard," Nina paused to laugh at her insult. "That bastard is a sadist."

"A sadist!" Emily whispered, her face paling.

"Oh, Emily, if only you knew! He seems so kind and charming but behind closed doors he's a madman. He was obsessed with me, I think. He never let me out of his sight. Ever I was stuck with him for months, not allowed to go out. One night he invited me into his office and he proposed to me. He said disturbing things to me then, things he said he wanted to do with me, vulgar things I wouldn't like to repeat. I declined and he became violent. He shouted for so long my ears were filled with a ringing for days. He forced a ring on my finger and gave me an ultimatum. Marry him or die."

"I'll kill him!" Victor shouted, making Emily jump in her seat. Nina, remembering Erik's similar reaction, smiled.

"I chose death." Nina said, not a hint of emotion in her voice. "Being the wife of that sadist would have been a fate worse than death."

"And then what happened, darling?" Emily asked tearfully, holding Nina's head to her shoulder.

"He stabbed me." She said simply.

"I'll rip his throat out!" Proclaimed Victor. Both women ignored him.

"So," Nina paused, finding it hard to recall what had happened next. "So I left. I was bleeding, I was dying and then. . . ."

"Then?"

"Then Erik found me."

Nina paused as a familiar warmth began to ignite in her stomach and spread to the remaining parts of her body. Her love for Erik had been reaffirmed completely remembering how he had so nobly saved her life without expecting a thing in return, even if it risked him being found by the authority. Two hazy weeks of her falling down the steady slope of infatuation flooded back to her, melting away the coldness she had felt at Erik's previous conversation with his friend. She could not help but smile broadly. In a span of mere moments a transformation overtook her. She had gone from looking frumpy and slightly annoyed to looking pretty and in a glorious mood. Victor and Emily recognized this transformation perfectly well and looked at each other slyly.

"This man has caught her heart." Victor said, grinning catlike.

"I wonder, has she caught his?" Emily asked, looking at Nina attentively.

"No, I haven't." She answered sadly, taking sudden interest in a corner of the ceiling and crossing her arms over her chest. "He loves some other woman, some beautiful soprano. Christine. He adores her, I know. She must be something for him to love her so much. She is amazing and I am nothing." She shook her head to herself before continuing with her monologue. "And then, the irony of it all, she rejected him for some other man, some handsome fellow. Oh, he'll clutch my hand, he'll hold me in his arms, but he won't love me. Do you know, I kissed him. He was terrified. You'll have to understand, he's not a normal man. His entire life has been nothing but tribulation after tribulation. I don't think he'll ever love me."

"Nina, men are strange." Victor said, sympathetically. "He'll see the light soon enough. You can't give up hope."

"Hope!" She exclaimed, clutching a hand to the place where she had been stabbed. "That is easy for you to say. You have always had each other. I have had no one. I thought I had Rousseau but that turned out to be a lie. Hope, my dearest friends, hope is a curse. It was released by Pandora in her box where it was held with the other horrors of the earth."

Standing, she shook her head wearily.

"Erik has been out for a while. I think I'll find him and you can meet him properly."

Without another word, Nina left the room, leaving her friends in complete silence, slightly stunned at her new behavior.

Erik sensed somebody standing near him and he felt the warmth of Nina's head press into his arm. Together, they watched the resplendence of the winter garden, taking in each bird scratching in the dirt, each frosted over leaf and blade of grass, noting whatever plants had survived the cold and dark of the English winter. The towering forms of evergreens floated across the pale, gray sky and the weak rays of sun barely shone through the thick, powerful clouds that swathed themselves across the open abyss like royalty in their thrones. Somewhere far away, the running water of a creek buried in some distant wood could be heard, making Erik think once again of new compositions to be made. Through this stilled, watery noise, his muse seemed to be shouting in his ear to pick up a pen and paper and get to work.

"So, you're not angry with me anymore?" He asked, quietly, not ripping his eyes away from that scenery.

"What made you think I was angry with you?"

"You overheard my talk with the daroga this morning. The knowledge that you're being used is definitely something capable of provoking anger."

"How do you know I overheard you?"

Erik shrugged and Nina did not press him further.

"I wasn't angry. Just. . . hurt."

"I'm sorry." He whispered sharply, angry at himself for damaging her. "I'm sorry I can't say it back. I'm sorry that I'm afraid of loving you. I am sorry that I'm afraid of loving you because I'm afraid you will hurt me, just as Christine hurt me, just as everyone I've ever known has hurt me!" Erik hissed, taking her hand and fiercely gripping it in his own.

"Erik," Nina sighed, gripping him back and stepping away so that she could look into his face clearly. The way the wavering sun half cloaked by clouds shone on his face made his mask stand out considerably, that unique material illuminating beneath the thin, yellow light. "You need only say it and I will be yours forever."

"I am doubtful, you must realize." He said, arms crossed over his chest. After a long silence, he said, "That man, Victor, what is he to you?"

"He is a childhood friend," She murmured, crossing her arms over her chest. "And the husband of one of my closest friends in the world. He's something like my brother. When I was younger, just a little girl really, I had some stupid silly crush on him. He used to visit Emily at the orphanage. She and I belonged to the same one, that's how we know each other. He seemed to be a shining light amidst all the misery and poverty and ugliness. But he loved her. It was a scandal, a man of rank marrying a woman from a children's home, but he said he didn't care what other people thought about him as long as he was with Emily. People don't say anything about him, though. They respect him too much for his boldness. They took care of me a lot." She sighed, furtively. "They introduced me to Rousseau and I thought I had finally found someone to love me. I was wrong."

A sudden cold splash of realization suddenly washed over Erik. Oh, he was suddenly in a rage at himself, at his selfishness, at his idiocy. He was not the only one who hadn't been loved before. It was certainly possible that Nina was as lonely as him. She smiled, she laughed, she loved him, but on the inside she was miserable.

"Well, let's go inside, won't we?" Nina smiled at him, refusing any pain to enter her physical form. "I'm cold.

* * *

><p><strong>Do any of you musical fans recognize Anshel? If you do, don't ruin the secret for the other readers who don't. ;) Though it is the same character, I've completely changed the personality, so don't get angry at me for him being OOC. Ahaha, evil fandom crossing. It's going to be fun to write him.<br>**

**I have to admit, I got tricked into doing another 'favor' for a theater friend of mine so I'll be playing clarinet in a production of Annie, Get Your Gun. As always, theater music is very VERY hard on clarinet so I won't have as much time to write while I'm learning it but I will try to as often as possible.**

**Well, thank you as always readers, reviewers. TTFN.  
><strong>


	20. Chapter 20

As Erik and Nina were outside, Victor and Emily were frantically conversing with each other, still in the parlor of their home, Anshel standing obediently behind them.

"Something about Nina has changed. She has gone mad." Victor exclaimed, gripping his wife's hand in his own gently.

"Anyone would go mad living with a sadist. You don't think he did anything to her?"

"He stabbed her, dear. She said so herself."

"You know that is not what I meant."

"I know, I know!" He said, his face contorting in pain. "But that is not what I am worried about. My biggest concern right now is him, that man! He may have saved her life but he is dangerous for her, I know! He has already hurt her enough, she is in agony. We both see that. Nina said he is not normal and I do not doubt her. He seems. . . off. He's too quiet, too calm, too. . . ."

"Handsome?" Emily finished for him. Though he did not confirm her, she was right. "But what will we do about it? I doubt there is much we can do."

"If I may suggest something, Madame?" Anshel said, smiling politely, his eyes glittering mischievously behind his glass lenses, the telltale sign of a person making trouble. Though he had promised Erik not to reveal his identity, he was witty enough to work his way around their contract. He would merely probe his masters in the right direction by having them find out on their own. He could not let a murderer be in the presence of his employers or their friend. It was simply too risky. Besides, even if they learned of the seemingly obvious masked man's identity, it was unlikely they would turn him into the police. Their hearts were too big for that, and then there was always the relationship between him and the young lady. Though he had not been present when Nina had confessed her feelings towards the murderer to his masters, not a thing escaped Anshel and his quick eye and witty mind. The moment he had seen the young lady glance at the masked man, he knew what she was experiencing.

"Do you have a solution?" Victor asked, turning his head to look at the young man directly.

"Why don't you talk to them individually? Separate them, question them, interrogate them. Find out who he is, clarify if he really is a danger to the young lady. Who knows, maybe he is her savior; he saved her life after all. Or. . . ." The boy grinned and tucked his arms behind his back slowly, a motion common to male servants. "He could be a madman. He certainly seems strange enough."

"Nina, would you like to see the nursery?" Emily asked softly as soon as she and Erik had stepped back into the room. The man's arm wrapped around her waist did not go unnoticed by either Victor or Emily.

"I would love to." Nina replied, more out of politeness than eagerness. She had never been fond of children, at least, not since she had lived at the orphanage. A minute did not pass by that was not filled with a child's crying or screaming and the inside of her skull seemed to be raked constantly by some invisible force.

The two woman left the room, leaving Erik and Victor sitting opposite each other, Anshel standing obediently by the younger man's side like a faithful dog. Erik had to admit, the peculiar person seemed to be a good man servant despite his disadvantages.

"So, Erik, where do you come from?" Victor asked casually, folding his hands into each other neatly. :Would you like anything to drink? Tea, wine, perhaps some harder liquor? I do believe I have some Russian vodka in the pantry somewhere."

"Paris." He lied easily. He had, in fact, been born in a small town near Rouen. "And nothing, thank you." Erik had learned long ago not to accept anything from strangers. He had been poisoned often enough in Persia and he wasn't fond of returning to the same haggard feeling.

"As good a city as any."

"I suppose." Erik murmured, quietly.

"Do you mind my asking, how old are you?" Victor said after a long moment of silence.

"Four and thirty years." He lied again. The truth was was that Erik was not certain of the exact year he had been born. His mother had never told him and he had never celebrated his birthday, so he could only estimate.

"I see. And, excuse me I can't quite recall if Nina mentioned it, what is your profession? I can see by you state of dress that you are quite a wealthy man."

"Profession?" Erik asked, slightly surprised. He did not have a lie for profession. He had no profession, he was a man of the arts. Besides, he had been draining the managers of the opera long enough to have accumulated a handsome amount of money, definitely enough for him to live the rest of his life comfortably. "I am an architect, scholar, most preferably a musician. And many other things."

"A musician, you say? How fascinating. What do you play?"

"Piano, organ, violin, I sing. . . everything." He listed, casually, almost bored by this idle talk.

"How talented you must be!" Victor exclaimed, desperately trying to get on Erik's good side so he would feel comfortable enough to open up and shed light on himself. "You really must perform for my wife. She adores music."

"If you say so."

"And then, how is it you met Nina?" He asked with a gleaming smile.

"I found her in a time of need." Erik said simply, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "I did what any man would have done."

"I don't think so. Finding a girl alone, hurt, vulnerable. We're both too smart to think that any man wouldn't have. . . readily taken advantage of the situation."

"I'm not a rapist, if that's what you're implying."

"Oh no, certainly not. I would not dare." Victor said, closing his eyes calmly and then fluttering them open again. The slightest smile tainted his lips and Erik felt the unmistakable urge to strangle him. "But surely a man as talented as yourself isn't capable of any means of. . . seduction?"

"I will not lie to a man in his own home, but it is important to note that she initiated it." He said, calmly, as if he had just commented on the weather.

Victor sat aghast at Erik's frivolous confession, his mouth hanging open slightly. Sitting back on the couch, it seemed that the man who had formerly seemed so awkward and stiff had just changed personalities. The Phantom had once again taken over and was lounging around, completely relaxed in the unfamiliar territory of chatting with a man about carnal things.

"You mean you. . . ?"

"Oh, of course not!" He said, waving the younger man's question aside with his hand. "I merely helped her. . . ," Erik paused to smirk and he examined his hands nonchalantly. "Relax. And then, of course, she's refused to sleep in her own bed since." Thoughtfully, he quieted and leaned his head against the back of the sofa he was resting on. "She keeps me up at night, murmuring, muttering, breathing. Last night I woke up and couldn't believe myself. Me, with a woman. How absurd, I said to myself. I am not that kind of man, I assure you. I have never been closer to a woman in all my years, not even the love of my life." In a snap, the Phantom had disappeared and Erik sat quietly, hands folded together as if in prayer. He stared at Victor gravely and the handsome young man felt a miserable chill drip down his spine and into his soul. He shuddered softly.

"Christine?" Victor asked, quietly.

"Yes. Christine." He whispered, completely disregarding the fact that a near stranger knew the name of someone so personal in his life.

"If it was not meant to be, it was not meant to be."

"The mind understands that, the heart does not."

"Well, Erik," Victor said, standing and placing a warm hand on the man's shoulder. To his shock, he found Erik to be near freezing. "Christine may not have loved you but that should not make you blind. Look around, you may find a little girl with long black hair completely taken with you." He was silent and Victor stepped away from him. "I think I'll check on the ladies. Anshel, why don't you entertain our guest?"

"Of course." Anshel obeyed, standing with his arms folded behind his back obediently.

"Tell me, _Anshel,_ how did you get mixed up in this?" Erik said, gesturing to the servant's clothing.

"That, sir, is a very long story, and it is quite personal."

"Oh, I think we have a bit of time. Enlighten me, _young man_."

"Well, you see, sir, since I was a child I've always had a passion for learning. However, as you might have guessed, such scholarly ambitions for a person of my. . . background are frowned upon in my community." Erik motioned for him to sit down and Anshel obeyed, taking the seat his master had occupied previously. "I went to school but things did not quite go the way I planned they would. I went to America but I didn't find my freedom there, so I came to London. I picked up this job and I've become. . . ," He fidgeted in his seat and Erik watched as he brushed a stray strand of brown hair behind his ear and smoothed the rest of his dark locks back. "I've become attached to the master, you could say."

"Attached? How scandalous. People might begin to think you're a homosexual. You would be in an awful lot of trouble if somebody were to find out about your real secret, though."

"It is not the first time I have become attached to someone forbidden to me, so you needn't worry, sir. And you would be dead if someone to inform the law about yours. But now it's your turn. Tell me, what were the events leading up to your, ah, downfall?" Anshel crossed his legs and gave Erik a smile so filled with mischief it could rival even that of the fairy Puck's.

While Erik and Victor were having their conversation downstairs, Nina and Emily were having their own discussion in the nursery on the second floor.

"So, you kissed this man, you say. Tell me, what was it like?" Emily said, coquettishly, taking the opportunity to sit down on a small bed next to a white plush cradle.

"I told you already. He was terrified. He nearly shouted at me and then he left. But that was the second time."

"And the first?"

"Warm and kind of. . . wet." Emily laughed and Nina felt her cheeks flush furiously. Dropping her eyes to the floor covered in various soft rugs, she refused to look her older friend in the eyes. "We were sitting on a little settee and he sort of just. . . draped himself over me."

"What? Really? How strange."

"Well, he was drunk so I don't much count it. . . ." Nina trailed off, sitting in front of Emily on a damask footstool.

"Does he drink often?" The older woman asked, laying back with a small groan as her back cracked pleasurably.

"No. I've only ever seen him drink that one time. He's a good man, I assure you. He may get emotional sometimes but he has the right. His mother hated him, you know. And she didn't make it a secret either. And Christine caused him a lot of trauma."

"Come here, dear, lay down beside me. I want you to tell me more about him."

Nina did as Emily asked and lay on the bed beside her. Staring at the ceiling, she was quite reminiscent of the many nights she had spent curled up beside the same woman when they had both been much younger. Though it had only been a few years previous, it seemed to Nina that those nights were from decades long lost in the past. So many things had changed since they had last done the same thing and she could not help but miss those frigid nights where she and Emily would stay up late and whisper stories to each other, covered with nothing but the tatters of an old blanket and rags that suited as a blouse skirt. Golden hair and raven hair would mingled in a tangle of dark and light. Despite, the agonizing poverty and miserable work she had to do each day, Nina had been experiencing something esembling happiness.

"Well, you say you've kissed this man. Have you done anything else?" Emily asked, her eyes following her companion's to the ceiling. Nina was silent and Emily sat up a little to look at her. "Nina!" She whispered, scoldingly. "Don't tell me you're impure!"

"Of course I'm pure!" She exclaimed, likewise sitting up so that she could face her scolder. "I just, I. . . he, we. . . ."

"Please, Nina, I'm plenty acquainted with bedroom things, in case you haven't noticed." Emily snorted gesturing to her swollen abdomen. After a moment of huffing, both her gaze and her voice softened and she took her friends hand in her own. "Darling, you don't have to tell me. I'd only just feel reassured knowing what you didn't do."

"I know, I know. It's just. . . personal."

Silently, Emily nodded and clutched Nina's head to her shoulder, lightly running her hand through her long dark hair.

"He just. . . touched me, is all." She admitted, quietly.

"Are you saying he molested you?"

"Of course he didn't!" Nina snapped. "We both just got caught up in the moment, you could say. Really Emily, you mustn't be so defensive. I swear you will be a magnificent mother one day but you are not my mother. Everyone keeps trying to protect me and I don't need it. I took care of myself well enough while you and Victor were so ensnared with each other. And then again I had to fend for myself when that bastard locked me up. But I got out of that well enough."

"No, if it hadn't been for that man you'd probably be dead right now."

"Yes, you see, I have Erik to look out for me when I can't do a well enough job myself. He cares about me, Emily. If he didn't he wouldn't have given me this." Holding up her hand, Nina gave her a good view of the ring Erik had given her. "It was Christine's but he wanted me to have it. He may not love me but that's perfectly sensible. He's been hurt and he's lonely, but he said himself that he couldn't stand being alone any longer. He really is an amazing man. He's a musician. I've only heard him sing once but he has the voice of a god. You have heard him speak, imagine him singing. It's so perfect it almost seems unearthly. And then he played the piano once. It was indescribable. The entire room was in a swoon. And then his eyes! Have you ever seen a person with golden eyes before? They illuminate in the dark. They're magnificent. I adore him. He is my world."

"Well, if you adore him then I must adore him, too." Emily said with a small laugh. "But I feel much better now that you'll be living with Victor and I again."

"I won't be."

"Don't speak nonsense, of course you are."

"No, I have a room at Erik's house."

"And you have a room here!"

"I'm sorry, Emily. But you have too much to deal with on your own. And now you're having a baby, too." Nina shook her head and smiled. "I can't impose on you. For a while I thought I had plans to join a convent but now I know I can't do that. The moment I realized I loved him I knew I would never be able to give him up. He's too fantastic."

"I suppose we'll have to trust you both then. But Nina, think long and hard before you make any rash decisions. Like Victor said, men are strange. One moment it may seem that he adores you as much as you adore him, but he could have a sudden change of heart. And what about Christine?"

"I don't think Christine shall be much of a problem."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one she is currently in France with her husband, and then she disliked him for. . . certain reasons."

"Reasons?"

"I can't tell you, he would be upset with me. It's very personal, you must understand."

"Then I won't press you." Emily said with a tired sigh. "But I can't help but wonder."

"Maybe he'll tell you one day. I hope he'll allow you into his life. He's been isolated so long it seems like he expects nothing else."

There was a soft knock at the door and Victor poked his head into the room, smiling at them both.

"Are you ladies done in here?" Victor asked Emily. In her husband's words she recognized the real question he was asking. Have you extracted all essential information? Emily nodded. "Well, Nina, I think your friend is missing you. Come back downstairs and we'll all have a long talk."

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for the late update, folks. It's been a busy week, but I'll hope you enjoy this. <strong>

**firewieldermera, I promise progress will be made soon. And it's nice to hear from other clarinet players. It's not the most popular instrument. **

**pheobep3, it's ironic that you say that since I've had a Sherlock story floating around my mind for some time. Maybe I shall finally write it down. ;)  
><strong>

**Everyone else, thank you for your continued support. You are all simply marvelous. Without you I would have definitely retired this story to the graveyard. TTFN, readers.  
><strong>


	21. Chapter 21

"Erik?" Emily said softly so that no one else would overhear her.

"Yes, Madame?" Erik said, his voice equally as soft as he stepped over to her. Behind him he heard Nina and Victor deeply enraptured in conversation, the two of them at the end of the hall near the door.

"Please, call me Emily. But it is vital that I warn you about something important."

Giving a glance over to where Nina and Victor stood talking, he stepped closer to her, feeling that Nina mustn't overhear them at all costs.

"Nina is a very unusual woman, you must understand. She can behave normally for one moment and then strangely the next. I am afraid that somebody is going to get hurt."

"I'll admit she's a fragile woman, but I promise you I would never hurt her."

"It's not Nina I'm worried about." She said with a small laugh. Suddenly, a deep graveness washed over her and a frown covered her pretty young face. "It's always been obvious to me that Nina is different from most people. I never knew how different until once a man provoked her and she became. . . violent. She broke that man's arm. And then, not only does she have violent outbursts at times, but she will stop at nothing to get what she wants if she wants it bad enough. Something in her has changed now, I know, and I do not think it is a change for the better."

"And you are worried about me, why?"

"Because, Erik, I sincerely believe that Nina wants you." Before he could say anything, Emily continued. "You have not known her long enough to see it, but she is two people. There is the lovely, happy, smiling Nina that is present most of the time, and then there is the version of her where she becomes sly, dangerous. She has little self preservation and even less preservation for others. She is normally such a God fearing girl, but simply stops caring. She becomes cruel, strange, sadistic, contemptuous. She finds genuine pleasure in other people's pains. She hurts people, Erik. It's how she controls people to get what she wants. She'll hurt you if you're not careful."

Looking back onto the first conversation he had had with the girl he had met in the woods, Erik remembered the grin she had given him, the same coy smile that had invoked fear in him. Slowly, he nodded. With his intense eyes he could see through Nina's outer layer to look clearly at the dangerous inner part of her, the same part that had let him touch her and the same part that demanded he sleep in the same bed with her. A coquettish smile here, a sly twinkle in her eyes there, every small attribute he had not cared to piece together added up to a strange sum. She was not just a Spanish rose, but a devious vixen. She was an angel and a demon in one body.

"Everything will be fine, I assure you." He said to her, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his black frock coat and stepping over to where Nina and Victor stood talking.

"How do you know? How do you know everything will be fine?" She asked, holding Erik's arm in her hand to prevent him from getting any closer to her husband and friend.

"Because I am exactly the same way."

* * *

><p>"Nina?"<p>

"Hmm?"

"Come here, won't you?" Erik said, gesturing her over to the piano in his parlor where he had been sitting silently the past hour, occasionally moving his fingers over the ivory keys but never pressing a single note. Something had been obstructing his power today. He thought that, at first, it was merely the absence of Christine, but now he was not so sure.

Remembering how he first likened himself to Nina, Erik felt agitated. They were magnificently similar. Give her a deformity and the talent of Apollo and she would be his perfect female counterpart. Remembering a saying that opposites attract, something he had always applied to himself and Christine, he doubted if it really had much meaning. It had taken Erik years to convince Christine of his benevolence, and it had taken her even longer to begin to show affection in return. Now he wondered if he had ever even gained an ounce of her love. No, he spat to himself, there had only ever been pity. But here Nina was, professing her love to him when she had known him for just a short two weeks. And, he reminded himself, she was lonely just like him. Two souls had been plunged into the dark, each of them groping for some form of companionship. Both of them had latched onto the first thing they had come across, for Erik that had been Christine, for Nina it had been a sadist name Armand de Rousseau. Neither one of them had gotten what they had wanted but now they had each other. Something has truly driven us together, he sighed silently.

"Perhaps there is a God." Erik muttered, his eyes fixed on his fingers stretched out over the keys of the piano.

"Excuse me?" Nina said, stepping next to where he was seated at the black painted bench to stand behind him.

"Nothing." He said, quickly. "Nina, I have treated you wrongly. I must apologize."

"Anyone compared to that bastard is a saint." She snorted, running her hand through Erik's soft hair. In a flash, he had stopped her hand by gripping her by the wrist.

"No. Not me."

"You needn't apologize, Erik. You may have the voice of a god but you are still just a man. But. . . ."

"But?" He asked, his throat slightly gravelly with irritation.

"But," Nina's voice dropped to a whisper and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I know a way you can make it up for me."

One hand snuck itself through the tie and collar of his shirt to graze its fingers over the flesh of his chest. Though she felt the mass number of scars that laced themselves across his breast, Nina did not let her hand stray and he gasped softly. Erik could not remember the last time somebody had touched him there; perhaps no one had. Only the whip of various captors had ever found its way to his chest. The skin there seemed almost virginal, its only mars the criss-crossing of deep, white lines embedding themselves into his flesh like a fisherman's net.

Without a word, Erik stood and, after shoving all stacks of sheet music and pens to the floor with one broad sweep of his arm over the top of the piano, Nina found herself on the black, reflective surface of the instrument. Placing his hands on either one of her thighs, he parted her legs slightly and she held him fast to her neck. His lips met with the dark curve of her neck and a soft moan escaped her lips as he kissed her there deeply. One black trousered knee met with the piano keys with a sharp, loud clang and Erik registered vaguely that it was bad for the piano chords. However, he did not much care at the moment.

Grasping her rustling skirts angrily, he swore loudly before letting her go and striding to the other side of the window where he crossed his arms and glared at the transparent panes.

"I'm sorry." Erik said, his voice nothing but bitter. "You just can't imagine what I want to do to you and I know that would not be right."

Silently, she sat on the edge of the piano bench and lightly set her fingers on the highest G flat, pressing it lightly to create an ominous sound that reverberated around the room.

"You're right. I can't imagine." Nina said. "So, why don't you tell me?" Her hand slipped to the F sharp, creating a fortissimo pang, and Erik jumped slightly. At the same time, each of them turned to face one other and Nina's eyes glittered haughtily in a silent challenge. "Or would that be too intimate for such an isolated man?"

Her mind had worked remarkably fast. Nina had not wanted to discontinue her and Erik's charade on the piano and her thoughts sped around dizzyingly while searching for a solution. Her saucy wit had concluded that the only way she would be able to coax him into their heated interaction again would be by making him angry. Her smart plans failed.

"I would pick you up like a bride and I would carry you upstairs. Not to the room you slept in last night, but to mine."

"Go on." She murmured breathlessly. His voice had slipped into the same silky, seductive manner he had used on the night he had gotten her into his bed. Nina was left hypnotized at the sheer beauty, her eyes nothing but glazed over crystal orbs in her head.

"I would set you on my bed. If you were wearing a dress that tied in the back, I would let you unlace it yourself. If it was tied or buttoned in the front, I would take it off for you."

"And then?"

"I would take off everything else. Slowly to be gentle, but not as slow as to make the anticipation painful." As Erik spoke, Nina was silent and her blue eyes straed at him, furiously focusing on his face. Her black hair hair, blue gown, and almost violet eyes combined together to make an eerily dark statement. She sat patiently, her hands clutching her skirt, waiting to see the rest of his painting. Full lips parted softly, he could see the trace of white teeth. Calmly, he walked nearer to where she was still seated at the piano bench.

"You're warm. So very warm." Erik whispered. "And beautiful. You are so beautiful, Nina. And I am so ugly. Not just my face and my body, but my soul is hideous, as well."

"Yes, Erik." She said, muttering her agreement coldly. "You are revolting, I'm sure. Truly horrifying. The prospect of your ugliness invokes nothing but disgust in my soul."

"I apologize." He said.

"Make it up to me." Nina exclaimed sharply, and Erik was silent, waiting for her command. "Kiss me, Erik!"

"I can't." He said with a small shake of his head.

"Why not!" She shouted, though she already knew the answer:

"Christine." Erik answered her solemnly.

"Always Christine." The misery in her voice outmatched his sorrow and Erik felt a twinge of guilt for the second time. He was not the only person who had been hurt and was lonely, but he could not stop his blindness, even when it hurt possibly the only person who ever felt enough generosity to bestow love and kindness upon him.

Faintly, a dark tune scratched itself in the empty air, long, cold, and undampened by her foot placed on the pedal of the piano. The simple, one handed melody was, at one time, quiet and angry, almost as if the rhapsody floating in the air had the means to be passive aggressive. Despite the lingering traces of hostility in it, the continuous flats produced from her slim fingers caressing the ivory keys also suggested deep anguish and despair. There was tragedy there along with anger, and it almost felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Erik gasped softly when her hand slipped onto a wrong note and she stopped, though her hand still rested against the carefully arranged pieces of ebony and ivory.

"I didn't know you played."

"I don't." She said, abandoning the instrument and standing up to face him. "Christine hurt you, but I have not. Did she love you, Erik, because I love you. She saw you, she feared you, she ran into the arms of another man. But I adore you and you refuse me."

"My God you infuriate me!" Erik answered her, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "Do you think I want to be in love? It is worse than the most unimaginable hell! I am constantly in the throes of a fire that I cannot control!"

"Then let me douse your flames! Or at least let me start my own!"

"Then do it! I cannot kiss you, so why don't you kiss me?"

Without another word, Nina pulled Erik by the lapels of his coat to her and met his mouth with hers. Several sharp sounds arose in the air as her back met with the sensitive piano keys and he reeled into her kiss, almost like a vampire in a swoon. Silently, she pushed him to the ground, fury ablaze in her eyes.

"You are an imbecile." She told him, tearing off his cravat and forcibly removing his jacket. "Now take your damn pants off."

Erik stared at her like a deer about to be shot and Nina gave a frustrated groan before pulling off his waistcoat and opening his shirt to expose his scarred chest, watching with a satisfied grin as the buttons on both garments popped off to litter the floor, not bothering with the tedious task of undoing them. His shirt hung off his shoulders as she glared at every blemish that carved itself into his flesh and she held him to the floor fast.

"I took a vow of celibacy and now you've ruined it. I saw how miserable my mother was over my father and I told myself I would never become like that. She died being away from him and that was the day I swore off men. But now what have you done, you insufferable man?! You've ruined me. I'm just as miserable as my dear dead mother. You ache for Christine, you despair for her, you yearn and whine and mope all for her. And I do the same for you. I want you, I need you, don't you understand that, you idiot?! You've ruined everything!"

Nina did not cy, simply because she would not cry. But she sobbed slightly and buried her face into Erik's chest, pressing the smooth skin of her face to the multitude of lines weaving their way across his pale form. In an effort to comfort her, he ran his hand through her long raven hair and wrapped his arm around her back, holding her close to him.

"My mother and father truly loved each other, you know. But they could not be together." She told him somberly. "They were both married, and then they were of completely different ranks, so they had to keep their relationship a secret. When I was born my mother told her husband that I was his child, and he believed her, the stupid man. He was Spanish like her but neither of them had blue eyes. I have a brother, too. A half brother, the son of my father and his wife. We would secretly play when we were children because his mother didn't like me. She was suspicious, I think. What really tipped her off is when my mother's husband died and she barely mourned him, but she didn't do anything. Everyone was a little miserable in that house back then, her because she knew her husband was unfaithful, my mother and father because they could not truly be together, me because, well, I am always miserable."

She paused to laugh a little and Erik continued to run his hand through her hair comfortingly, silently listening to the rest of her story, "When my brother turned fourteen he started behaving differently to me. I was just ten and two years then so I was at a complete loss as to what he was doing when we were in his room one day. We were such good friends, I had never expected something like that from him. He kept pacing around his room rearranging things until he thought they were perfect for whatever was going to happen. Well, he sat me on the little carpet where we always used to play games and he tried to kiss me. I almost kissed my brother, can you believe it? But our father walked into the room and he just started shouting and shouting. Not at me but at my brother. I had never seen him so angry. I was terrified. I remember sitting in the outside hallway with Leonardo, that's my brother, and, and there was so much shouting going on behind my father's office door. My mother, my father, my father's wife, they were all so loud."

Nina's voice dropped to a low whisper and she slowly slid off of Erik's chest to lay on the carpet beside him.

"The next day my mother and I left. We lived in some stupid little shack in the country that had been my mother's parents when they were still alive. She started changing without my father, almost immediately. She was tired, sick, miserable. She cried, she cried so much, Erik. And then she died and I went to live at an orphanage in London. I met Emily, she watched after me, we were best friends. There was some patron to the orphanage, I can't remember his name but sometimes he brought his son with him on his visits. That's how Emily and I met Victor. I was ten and four years by the time he first talked to me. It seems so long ago but it was only just a little over two years. He was so pretty and clean and warm and kind, I thought I loved him. I know that I didn't now, though. You are the only man I have ever loved. But I was crushed all the same when he and Emily took a liking to each other. They got married so quick and I lived with them for a while, but then I met Rousseau. He was so handsome and dark and suave and polite and he invited me to his summer home in Paris. But then you know what happened next. I began to feel like I was a prisoner in those little damask rooms, and I was right. He wouldn't let me go, Erik. He was mad."

Nina inhaled sharply to herself and Erik, still with one arm wrapped around her, held her to him tighter. Quietly, he wondered if this was how Christine felt when thinking about him. Was he just another Rousseau to his angel and her precious little viscount? Had he hurt her so much that she had to cling to her husband like Nina was clinging to him now just to bear with the thoughts?

"Do you think he loved you?" He asked her quietly.

"No." She answered simply. "It may have seemed that way but he was only ever obsessed with me. He worshiped me, but he wanted to possess me as well. That was his mistake, I think. If he hadn't been so forward, if he hadn't been so sudden and violent and imposing maybe I could have learned to love him back."

Could it have been the same with Christine, Erik asked himself, would she have loved me if I had been different? A little voice in the back of his head said yes.

"Would you ever hurt me, Erik?" She asked him.

For a moment, he did not know what to say. To say no would be a lie. Hadn't he wrapped his own hand around Christine's throat in his lair on the night Don Juan premiered? If he had hurt Christine it would certainly be a possibility that he could hurt Nina. But to say yes might frighten her. Erik could only imagine her seeing him as just another Rousseau, a familiar kind of distrust and hatred in her eyes, completely reminiscent of the Swedish soprano he had been so fond of.

"I've already hurt you." He decided suddenly, placing a gloved hand over her chest directly above her heart beat. "Here. I've hurt you here."

Lovingly, Erik cupped her cheek in his other hand and turned her face towards his. His lips brushed against hers softly before he kissed her for only the second time. Her warm breath collided against his and Nina made soft, happy noises in his mouth, almost like she was purring.

"I'll never do it again, though. Or at least I'll try." He whispered hastily, moving his mouth away from hers in just enough time to give her his message before claiming her lips again.

* * *

><p>"I know you know where he is, Madame Giry." The beautiful young woman said, her long brown hair falling over her slender shoulders. "Raoul has told me what you know of him, and now I want you to tell me where he is."<p>

The aging widow stopped in her racks and turned slowly. She had tried her hardest to ignore Christine de Chagny as she passed the silver throated soprano on the street, but it had been to no avail and the girl would not stop heckling her about the man they both knew as the Phantom of the Opera.

"I know nothing." Madame Giry spat, tapping her walking stick against the ground and continuing her journey across the streets of Paris. "Believe what the police say, girl. That one is dead."

"That's a lie!" Christine hissed kitten-like, wrapping one small, porcelain hand on the older woman's arm and striding with her briskly. "You must tell me where he is!"

"Why should I tell you? You have caused him nothing but trouble since the moment he laid eyes on you!"

"Because I must tell him something, something vitally important!"

Giving a furtive sigh, Madame Giry paused in her speedy walk and looked into Christine's eyes. In the magnificent brown, teary orbs she saw a number of things. Desperation, hope, fear, and, above all else, madness. It was no secret to the wise woman that the girl in front of her has slightly insane. She likened the silver throated beauty to Ophelia, her former maestro having contaminated her like Hamlet with his diabolical demeanor. She could only hope that her fate would not end similarly to the Shakespearean tragedy's. The strict, skeptical old woman could only imagine the grave headline in the newspaper, 'Acclaimed Performer and Viscountess Found In River Seine".

"London. He should be in London if he's still alive."


	22. Chapter 22

"What is that noise?" Nina asked him.

Several weeks had passed since the incident where Erik had vowed to never hurt her again and he was lounged comfortably on his back over a pewter bench in the back garden, idly flipping the pages of a small book with a gilded cover and tapping some rhythm out into the air with his shoe batting softly against the arm. She paced back and forth between plants, watering can in hand, occasionally giving him a warm glance at him between irritated glares at the direction the ever present noise was coming from. She had noticed it dozens of time before, and, though annoyed by the rough and ugly noises that beat against her ear drums, she had said nothing, but the head ache she had developed from it today made her curious enough to know the identity of the cause of her pain.

The sun was only just beginning to set, but Erik did not need light to read. From the occasional looks she gave him, she caught the soft gold glimmers of his eyes being born as the day faded and was conquered by an omnipresent night. Here and there, a pink light began to stain the periwinkle sky, creating a romantic and picturesque feeling in the air. It would have been a dreamy moment if not for the boystrous laughing and drunk singing hanging in the air.

At her question, he looked up, vague interest crossing his bored eyes.

"You can hear that?" Erik asked, closing his book with a small snap and sitting up.

"Yes." Nina muttered frumpily, one hand absentmindedly tugging at a long string of black hair at her temple.

"That noise would be the Daroga." He answered her simply, whatever small fascination that had consumed him moments before disappearing as he settled back onto his bench and reopened the gilded book in his hand.

Over the past couple of weeks Nina had come to know Nadir Khan well, and, though he was a generally kind, optimistic, and humorous man, she could not help but feel her temper strain tediously after an elongated voyage in his presence. As smart and handsome as he was, however, and although she had grown to refer to the Persian man as a friend, among his charming qualities, he was loud, skeptical, and prone to long monologues and anecdotes that usually ended in some rude joke. In addition to these undesirable traits, he often brought a woman along with him whenever he dropped by Erik's house to check on him and Nina, never bringing the same slut over twice. She would not have minded these women much if they were brighter than a simple pigeon, but as they never failed to find themselves attracted to bright and shiny objects, she could not help but detest them.

"That man needs a wife." She had whispered in Erik's ear one evening as they both eyed a particularly dim woman with a particularly large bosom.

"You think so?" He had whispered back, likewise eying the stupid floozy. "Leave it to the Daroga to find the most idiotic woman in the world to make his, and then we'd always have to put up with them."

Letting out a huffy sigh and and setting down the watering can, she placed her hands over her hips and cast the most dirty look she could muster at the invisible noise that invaded her mind.

"And why in the world would he make such an insufferable racket?"

"I do believe that the man has turned some quaint cafe of mine into a trashy tavern." Erik said gravely.

"You. . . have a cafe?"

"Not anymore, it seems, though I still technically own it."

"Will I ever stop learning about you?"

"Probably not." He said with a smile, standing to cup one gloved hand over Nina's cheek fondly and quickly kissing her.

Nina was then reminded of a time when Nadir had been conducting one of his visits and he had swept her aside to speak to her privately while Erik was preoccupied in one thing or another. He had been slightly drunk and she had accepted his offer of a glass of wine one too many times and was feeling a little tipsy herself.

"Have you seen his face yet? Has, has he let you?" He asked her, rocking back and forth on his heels and staring at her somberly.

"Of course not!" She barked sadly.

"You'll have to do it soon! Maybe it would be best to just. . . ." Nadir swept his hand to the side, ripping an imaginary mask away from an imaginary Erik.

"Maybe. . . ." Nina said softly.

Remembering her conversation with the Persian, she now contemplated if she should simply tear away Erik's mask now. When her mind had been slightly more fogfier it had seemed like a good idea, but now she could envision disastrous outcomes. He would probably become violently angry, and it might even unhinge his already sociopathic mind. In abbreviation of her thoughts, it would not be a good experience for either of them. She could only hope he would let her see him willingly and in time.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a familiar baritone called from the front of the house.

"Oi!" Nadir shouted. Several birds flew up into the air as the deep pounding of his fist against the front door bashed into the air. "Don't tell me you've gone out!"

"We're in the back garden!" Erik shouted, his voice soothing the disturbed creatures so that they settled back on their perches over the roofing of the house.

"His ears must have been burning." Nina murmured in his ear as Nadir decided to skip protocol and jump over the gate that separated the back yard from the front. She was glad to see he had no escort tonight.

"And hello my fare weather friend. And the lovely Nina. I must say you are exceptionally beautiful this evening." He said. His dark curls were tussled happily, and he smiled at them both broadly. All irritation at him ebbed away when his kind jade eyes peered into hers while he kissed her hand. His exotically colored skin and high, aquiline nose and forehead made him reasonably handsome and she saw why he never failed to attract his horde of woman. If Nina was not already quite preoccupied with Erik, it was certainly a possibility that she would find herself attracted to him. However, since the dark, lanky man at her side immediately took hold of her arm possessively at his friend's presence, she found herself romantically content.

"Good evening, Nadir." She said sweetly, picking up her watering can again. In truth, any plants that had survived the harsh winter did not need to be watered during the wet springs London seemed so fond of, but there wasn't much else to do. She had read, she had cleaned, she had even convinced Erik into showing her the basics of playing the harpsichord in her pretty room, but she yearned for something else to do. To her dismay, it seemed Erik was quite content with sitting around the house all day.

"Why are you here, Daroga?" Erik said, his words sharp and acidic as he glared at the one man he could refer to as his friend.

"To save me from boredom, I presume." Nina said to him wistfully. "There isn't a thing to do around here. And I've only just learned that you own a tavern! He tells me nothing, you know." She told Nadir, mocking a fake pout and tugging on Erik's arm playfully.

"Erik you must really learn to take better care of your lovers!" He exclaimed, and Nina felt her face reddening at being referred to as Erik's lover. Being called a lover came with other implications, which had not yet been fulfilled. Though they lived together, she no longer had the comfort of sleeping in the same bed with him, nor did he find the means to repeat any saucy events that had happened on the ferry they had taken from Calais to Dover. Occasionally, he would find the courage to kiss her, but that was the only evidence she had of their so called relationship. Though slightly bothered by this sudden back step with him, she had said nothing. Nina could only assume that he was adjusting to a new life and that it would take time for him to fully accept her into his life.

"I do have a purpose for my visit tonight." Nadir said. Promptly, he pulled out a letter from the inside pocket of his coat and waved it quickly in Erik's face, pulling it out of the masked man's reach before he could pull it out of his own grasp. "Ah, ah." He said. "It's not for you, it's for Nina."

Before either Nina or Erik could investigate about the singular piece of parchment further, another voice at the front of the house called Nina's name.

"In the back garden," She said, and Victor's face appeared at the fence, Anshel in tow. Seeing him, her brow furrowed with concern. He had never visited her at Erik's home without Emily and seeing her absent, she felt a small hint of worry. "What's the matter, Victor? Has something happened?"

"Something has happened, indeed!" He shouted at her. "Emily has had the baby!"

Erik, Nadir, and Anshel watched as Nina practically flew towards him. The two embraced and Erik noticed Anshel's lips curve down into a frown as the young servant listened to the two laugh and shout with each other, his thin arms crossed over his chest sullenly. Erik would have thought the young man would have gotten used to seeing his attachment with someone else, as Victor was happily married, but this was not the case. Shifting from foot to foot, Anshel caught Erik's eye, and then, with a startled look, gaped at Nadir, his pretty blue eyes widening behind his spectacles and his arms dropping to his thin waist. Nadir, noticing the young man's attention, stared back at him curiously, but said nothing.

"Erik, Nina you must both come at once!" He exclaimed wildly. "Wait until you see her! She is beautiful!"

"Her!" Nina shouted with a small laugh.

"I have company, I'm afraid." Erik said quietly, thankful that Nadir was there so that he did not have to see some mewling offspring. "Nina may go but it would be rude to desert my guest."

"You can come too!" Victor laughed, taking Nadir's hand and dragging him forward to where he and Nina stood.

While Nina introduced Victor and Nadir to each other, Anshel stole the opportunity to interrogate Erik, whispering into his ear in a strangely high voice, "Who is that man?"

"The Daroga?" He murmured back, watching with crossed arms and narrowed eyes as Nadir offered his congratulations to the new father.

"Daroga? Is that his name? What a beautiful name!"

"I wouldn't catch yourself, _young man." _Erik spat sardonically. "His name would be Nadir Khan, and I don't think he's interested in your type."

"Nadir. . . ." Anshel whispered, his feminine face flushing faintly.

It's been shot with Cupid's arrow, Erik mused to himself, smirking lightly at the prospect of trouble brewing. If Anshel became too infatuated with Nadir there could be disastrous outcomes, the biggest being the discovery and publication of the young servant's secret. He could only imagine the sweet reactions that would be thrusted upon him by his employers. The sweet shock, the delicious scandal. It would be even better than the time he had thwarted Carlotta's piteous attempts at playing the Countess in Il Muto by producing the famous croak in her throat.

"Well, come on then! All of you!" Victor said hurriedly, anxious to get back to his wife and child.

Within moments, Erik, Nadir, Victor, and Nina were all comfortably situated inside Victor's plush carriage. The excited man had even swept Anshel, whom he considered less of an employee and more of a friend, into the cart where he sat wedged in between his master and the closed door, despite the boys protests that he would rather ride standing on the outside seat. Every now and then, he would cast a furtive glance to Nadir, who sat opposite him next to Erik.

"Nadir, this is Anshel." Victor said, gesturing happily to the boy seated next to him. "He is one of the single best employees I have ever had and probably one of the brightest men I have ever met. He is truly a genius."

"Thank you, sir." Anshel murmured, sheepishly. Strangely enough, the young man seemed to refuse the handsome Persian of all eye contact.

"Emily is so pleased! She is exhausted but very happy. We haven't decided what to name the child yet, though. I wanted to name her after Emily herself but she insisted against it. Are you married, ?" Victor babbled on happily, anxious to get back to his home and wondering why it was taking so long.

"Nina and I were just talking about how it would be a disaster if he was, what with the kind of woman he chooses to fill his company with." Erik snorted, his hand mindlessly finding its way to rest comfortably over Nina's.

"What about you, Anshel?" Nadir asked. "Do you ever think about marriage?"

"I was married once." The young servant answered quietly, and Victor gaped at him in mild shock. Erik's eyebrows were even raised in surprise, though he hid it well. The information that he was once married was something unexpected, and he could not help but wonder if Anshel had been married to a man or a woman. "Her name was Hadass. She was a sweet thing. Very pretty." He said, unknowingly answering Erik's question. He then wondered how on earth he had gotten married to a woman and concluded that he must have started his facade long ago. Imagining the young man explaining its secret to some gorgeous beauty on their wedding night made Erik grin evilly.

"Forgive me, I didn't know you were married." Victor said, equally as quiet as his servant. In a reply, Anshel shrugged sullenly, his eyes looking boredly out of the small window to his right. His black cap had become somewhat askew on top of his head and his brown hair was evidently in need of a trim, the tips curling around his chin to frame his pale, well sculpted face. His eyes flitted to Victor momentarily and then turned their attention to Nadir, his blue irises distant and cloudy, evidence that he was lost in some far off memory. Each time he blinked, his long eyelashes cloaked his eyes and Nina could not help but remarks to herself about the boy's obvious beauty. Shifting anxiously in his seat, Victor's hand brushed against his leg and she watched as the apples of his cheeks became rosy, as if embarrassed.

"What happened to her?" She asked him curiously. "Your wife, I mean."

"We divorced." He said simply, looking into her eyes and granting the occupants of the carriage a sad smile.

"Oh," She muttered, her eyes dropping to her lap in dismay. "I'm very sorry."

"Don't be, young miss." Anshel said, sitting up straight and turning his sad smile into a warm one. "We're both happier this way. And I do believe we have arrived at our destination."

With a wide, giddy grin, Victor practically jumped out of the still moving carriage, and Anshel faithfully followed him up the front walk, casting one glare to the masked man who walked behind him. Nina watched as Erik leaned forward and whispered something in the boys ear, and Anshel turned around and whispered something back. She could not help but think there was something strange about the servant whom it seemed Erik had befriended. He was short, thin, and, though he had to be much older, he didn't sound a day older than herself, his voice was so boyish. Noticing her watchful eye on him, he turned his head slightly to smile at her kindly and she was distracted by Victor telling her something as they stepped into the house.

Something warm and wrinkled placed itself into her hand and Nadir's voice murmured in her ear seriously, "Read it by yourself, and make sure Erik doesn't see it. It's from someone who knew of him and who knew him well."

Nina nodded consent and buried the piece of parchment in her pocket, itching o see what had made the usually so frivolous Nadir so serious. In his rooms, Victor disappeared behind a door to see how his wife was doing an if she was up to see visitors yet. Anshel had vanished into the servants hallways at some point and Erik and Nadir stood close at hand. Within the room Victor had gone in, a baby began to cry and the sound set both her and Erik on edge, and she dug her nails in her palms to cope with the frustration she felt at the noise.

Erik looked down and noticed a trickle of blood drop from her hands to the floor and he quickly pried her fingers away from her palm. She watched silently while he cursed unintelligibly, surveying her bloody hands, and, seeing she was either choosing not to listen to him or that she could not, he departed with the exclamation that he needed some fresh air.

Quickly, she pulled the letter out of her pocket and unfolded it and Nadir watched her gravely. The first few lines were obviously a greeting from some woman to him, and she skipped over these, looking frantically for something that concerned Erik. The name Christine jumped out at her and she read from there.

_...Christine. She would not stop pestering me about Erik's whereabouts_ _and I let it slip that he might be in London. That was before I received your letting confirming that he was indeed in London, and now I can't help but feel guilty for creating a possible problem. I cannot help but feel a sneaking suspicion that Christine will persuade her husband to take her on a vacation to London within the year, and, if they are to meet Erik while there, I cannot help but imagine disastrous outcomes. Keep a watchful eye on him, and I will keep a watchful eye on her._

_Mme. Giry_

Nadir watched, slightly frightened, as she sighed dejectedly and crushed the paper in her hand.

"Whoever this Giry is they were right when imagining disastrous outcomes. If that damn woman tries to drag him back to her I swear to God I'll be the one putting the rope around her neck."


	23. Chapter 23

Weeks slipped way like sand through a sieve for Nina. She saw Victor, Emily, and their child, Charlotte, who Anshel had suggested to name after Victor's greatly beloved mother, and Nadir frequently. Evenings spent together were lovely, but she knew that both she and Erik preferred only each other's company over their friends. Spring had truly broken forward from the cold Winter that had laid ice over both of their lives, and she woke every morning in _her _room by the crisp sun falling through her window, spending the days in Erik's house with him. It seemed that the horrors of their pasts were just a long ago memory, or some faded fable. Erik could not help but wonder if Christine ever thought of him as just a long ago terror, but his dwellings of the diva became less and less as the Spanish rose that had forced her way into his life conquered more and more of his affections. He had finally begun to forget about his angel of music, and he was content with it.

"Sing for me, won't you." Erik said one afternoon, watching Nina thoughtfully as she paced about the drawing room in boredom.

"Erik, in case you can't remember, I'm not exactly your typical soprano." She huffed back at him. "You know as well as I do that I can't sing to save my life."

"What about that song?"

"What song?"

"_When stars are born, are they cast out, to wander cold and lonely lost in space?" _He recited, and Nina began to feel the familiar sensation his lyrical voice had on her soul, her mind seeming to grow radically misty as she felt her stomach clench. Snapping her eyes shut, she desperately tried to escape the sudden hypnosis that he had cast over her, but only did a rough shake from Erik free her from his hold. Shaking her head to herself, she raised a hand to her head wearily and he gave her a small, apologetic smile, though she knew he was secretly proud of himself on the inside. Nothing could rival Erik's narcissism, not even his anger. The knowledge of this had helped her in several tight situations. Each time he became unthinkably angry, she had only needed to probe his confidence of himself, and the immediate stroking of his ego calmed him at once.

"That's just something my mother taught me." Nina explained to him, shaking off his suggestion within a moment.

"But what if I taught you?" He said quietly, and she looked over at him. Like always, he was lounged about on the couch. Today, however, he had no small book in his hand, nor did he have anything else to entertain himself with in the lazy household. She could not dispel the feeling he had some mischief tucked up in his sleeve towards her, and Nina silently prepared for any tricks he might be planning to amuse himself with.

"Erik, I don't want to sing." She said tiredly, slumping on the couch next to him. Wistfully, he pulled Nina into his arms so that she rested her knees against her chest and her head against his shoulder.

"Why not?" Erik asked after a moment of peaceful silence. "I can't fathom why anyone wouldn't want to sing."

"Because I don't, Erk."

"But why?" He insisted, and she sat up and slid off of his lap, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him furtively.

"Just because!" Nina exclaimed, standing up and stepping into the hallway to escape his pestering. Her pursuits were fruitless, however, as he merely got up and followed close behind her. Feeling his silent presence at her back, she stopped and looked down. Though she could not explain it, she was feeling restless, anxious, and nervous, sensing eerily that something important was about to happen. She calmed substantially a moment later when Erik placed a hand on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her from behind, his surprisingly warm body covering hers comfortingly. He was gentle and soft, but she still could not help but feel ill at ease.

"You're upset." Erik commented, running one hand through her long black hair.

"Yes." She agreed, her low voice rough with anxiety. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes with exhaustion and leaned into him. Ever since they had arrived in London, Erik's affections to her had been depleting and she had felt herself becoming continually isolated. The only times he ever showed an ounce of favor towards her was when there was another man in her presence, and he suddenly found him unbearably close and dominant. Him portraying a different kind of attraction towards her felt like a good change.

"Would you mind telling me why you are so upset?"

"You loved her so much and for so many reasons, but I know as well as you do that you loved her voice as much as Christine herself. But what if I can't give you that? What if you can't teach me how to sing? Would you still care for me then?"

"I see." He said quietly. "I care for you, _mon Rosette. _If you could not sing, so be it, if you can, so be it."

"You haven't called me that in a long time." She said, softly.

"_Mon Rosette._" He repeated, slyly.

"Sing for me then, Erik." Nina told him, her eyes still closed.

Without a word, he picked her up and folded her into his arms, easily carrying her back into the drawing room with his intense strength. He set her back on the damask couch and settled himself into the middle of the room, standing comfortably in his baroque surroundings, supported by the fine Persian carpets and the ornate chair and coffee table.

When he began to sing, she did not understand the language he used, but it affected her all the same. She quickly learned that he was not only a superb vocalist, but an amazing actor as well. The facial expressions he used were sensual and realistic, and his eyes seemed to flare with darkness and sensuality, letting her easily assume what his ballad was about. Encased in his majestic vibrato, time seemed to stand still and move at the speed of light at the same time, and, for a moment, her world stopped all for him. Feeling her pulse quicken with the pace of his song, she clenched her fist in her dress skirt and gave a heated sigh, her heart racing. It was like the night he had performed his piano solo on the ship heading from Calais to Dover. All at once, she wanted to throw herself at him and demanded he take her where she stood, and she struggled silently to keep herself in control, first holding her breath until she felt dizzy and then, when that did not work, breathing erratically. Feeling a sudden rush of blood in between her legs, she threw her head back and Erik watched, still singing, as the Spanish skin of her breasts rose up and down incredibly fast, as if she could not possibly bring and let air out of her lungs fast enough. His voice dropped to a pianissimo and she calmed slowly as his aria came to an end.

"I love you." Nina said breathlessly, her heart still beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

"Yes." Erik said quietly, observing her frantic state and wondering if she was ever bothered that he had never told her _he _loved _her_.

Silently, she gestured him over to her and, as soon as he was within reach, Nina grabbed Erik by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to her. She kissed him roughly, like always, demanding he kiss her back, and he soon found himself on the floor beneath her. He grinned saucily while she forced her kiss upon him, placing one hand against her back. Feeling the cool, smooth pearls that made up the buttons of her dress, he thought about unbuttoning them but decided against it. Nina was a woman he genuinely cared for, not some whore he could play around with when he wanted, and he would treat her like the lady she was.

As the seconds passed, their kissing became more and more wanton, and Erik felt her hands begin to stray around his body, first gripping his thin arms and then placing her small hands over his shoulders to hold him to the ground fast, and, finally, to cup his face in hers. Nina's fingers moved across his skin, caressing his flesh there, and then Erik felt his face being ripped away.

He looked back at her in shock, her own face equally as surprised. In her hand she held his mask, now a seemingly innocent piece of pale material, the exact color of his flesh. It was not like the time Christine had torn his mask away, but he felt the same anger, the same rage, the same want to shout. He would not shout, though. He had terrified Christine even further with his cursing the first time she had seen his face, and he would not make the mistake again. He tried to shove her body off of him, but she held him down fast, panicking and pressing her hands into his chest to keep him beneath her, her face blank and colorless as she observed him. Erik felt sick and powerless, waiting for some sort of reaction from her, and his immediate rage at her died, replaced by an immense fear. This terror sapped his strength and he made no attempt at all to hide his deformity from her sight. He was too tired, too very tired. Of everything. He was tired of loving, he was tired of wanting, he was tired of running and yelling and ultimatums that made chocolate curled angels cry in the face of monsters. He was too tired to do anything, especially pretend he was something he was not, and if the girl wanted to see his face he was too tired to stop her. Giving an exhausted sigh, he closed his eyes and waited for her to say something.

With a numb kind of horror, Nina looked at him. It was bad. Very bad. Worse than she had imagined in her mind and, in ways, worse than the gruesome portrait that the police had concocted during their search for him. It seemed that early the entire right portion of his face had been burned, the only remnants of flesh left behind being red and angry and spider webbed with jagged lines where she could see the purple traces of veins beneath the thin skin. The left side of his nose seemed to be concaving in on itself and the seemingly worn and stretched flank of his forehead looked painfully tight. Here and there were reliefs in the red flesh, as white and thin as fresh parchment. The outlines of his teeth were visible through his marred cheek and she felt herself begin to feel dizzy.

Unlike Christine, Nina did not want to scream. She only felt the urge to be sick, and she hated herself for it, but she would not look away from him, even when he closed his eyes. She had told herself countless times that she would not be sickened by Erik's appearance, but she could not help the immense and guilty repulsion she felt when looking at him. Knowing who this face belonged to, she wanted to hang herself with her clouded conscious, she loathed herself so much. She would not look away, however. In fact, she refused to. Looking away would be like telling him how much he disgusted her, and she would never be able to do that. She loved Erik too much to condemn him to that kind of pain.

"Erik?" Nina had not meant for her voice to be as quiet as it was, but it was an extreme effort to even produce words and volume was something she could not control.

"I don't know whether you are a demon or a saint." He murmured, as if half asleep.

Hearing his familiar, godly voice, she smiled tentatively. As bad as he looked, the man in front of her was still Erik, the man who offered her a yellow rose in apology, the man who sang for her, the first man to kiss her, the man who gave her his ring, the man who saved her life one stormy night when he could have simply walked past her bleeding form and left her to die. The man who she loved.

"You are my salvation." Nina murmured back to him.

Blinking open his eyes, he stared at her and she stared back, each unable to rip their eyes away from the other's face. Unearthly blue eyes stared into unearthly gold, and the face of a hideous demon looked into the face of a living saint, adoration passing between them steadily and in generous amounts.

"And you mine." Erik said, his words clipped like he was out of breath. "But it's a little hard to breathe with you sitting on my chest."

Her lips mad a perfect, amused _'o' _and she slid off of him, beginning to laugh at herself. Nina curled up at his side and he was reminded of the morning in the hotel room where they had lain side by side on the floor and told each other about themselves. Slowly, she swallowed and pressed her forehead to his, carefully brushing her fingers over his distorted and miscreated cheek. It would take her a while to get used to, especially since it was so much more than she had expected, but she would accomplish ease at his appearance with time.

"I don't want you to wear the mask anymore. Not when it's just me here."

"You don't think I'm ugly?" He asked quietly, his eyes closing again.

"Appearances are not everything, Erik." She told him, avoiding his question like the plague. "You may not be the most handsome man in the world, but-"

Before she could continue, he snorted, saying bitterly, "Well, that's an understatement."

"You may not be the most handsome man in the world," Nina continued, a trace of irritation in her voice at his surly attitude. "But you have so much more than your face to offer someone. Your voice, your wit, your complete and utter narcissism."

"Go on." Erik murmured, his lips curling into an arrogant smile.

"Your politeness, your neatness, your. . . gentleness. . . ."

He opened his eyes to see her staring at him, her thick, dark eyelashes barely parted in front of her almost-violet irises. His lips met hers, softly, faintly, their flesh barely meeting, and a sigh escaped from her throat, seemingly asking him for something unspeakable. Erik's hand brushed over her waist and then her lower abdomen, suggesting what Nina knew shouldn't be suggested. His hands met with the buttons on the back of her dress, this time working expertly to undo their fastenings. His pants constricted distressingly and he struggled to get her out of her dress. He wanted her, he needed her, he ached for the woman who would make love to him and look in his actual face while doing so. He wanted her to moan and sigh with ecstasy beneath his monstrous form, and nothing would be able to stop him from fulfilling his wish.

Suddenly, Nina felt a stab of fear. She knew this would not be like last time when he had only touched her, and her vows of chastity came back to her, and she felt as if the crucifix around her neck was burning into her skin.

"I'm,- _I'm tired, I've been torn, a cruel wretched storm, churns like a gale in my bones." _She sang, softly, her voice immediately stopping him from his intentions. His hand fell from her dress and Erik stared at her, her untrained, contralto voice sending waves of ominous pleasure through his body. Sitting up, she continued her song, _"Oh sail me away, carry me back to my home."_

"Open your mouth wider," He instructed to her, his voice barely a mutter as he concentrated on her voice. "Breathe from your abdomen. Here." Erik placed his hand back over her waist, though this time there was no sexual intent behind his actions, only the intent of a tutor and teacher. "Don't stop singing." He whispered. "What a wonder you are, Saturnina. What a divine wonder!"


	24. Chapter 24

"Hello, Erik." Anshel murmured, mischievously, shooting him a look that spoke of nothing but arrogance. Feeling his blood boil, Erik clenched his teeth but said nothing. He was in a bad mood, but he would not let the young servant get the best of him. Instead of snapping at the boy like he wanted, he instead wrapped his arm over Nina's warm shoulder, pulling her closer to him to soothe his soul. He did not mind Victor and Emily so much, he even found their child amusing at times, but he could not stand the boy that followed at Victor's heels wherever he went like a loyal sheep dog. He especially did not like the way the mousy haired servant ogled Nadir whenever the two came within contact of each other, like right now. Emily and her child had opted to stay at home, but Victor, Nadir, and Anshel had all decided to crowd his house that particular afternoon. Nadir and Victor were lost into a deep conversation and Anshel rocked on the balls of his feet soundly behind the chairs where they sat, listening with wide eyes but not speaking.

Annoyed and growing weary of the others' conversation, Erik slumped in his seat and Nina smiled at his obviously unhappy behavior.

"Oh, stop being so pessimistic." She said, straightening his tie. "Cheer up. Tonight is the opera. I can't wait to see a real contralto on stage."

"Maybe someday you'll be the contralto on stage, my dear." Erik said, smiling at her kindly.

"Well, I highly doubt that."

Erik only shrugged, smiling to himself knowingly. He had been spending a lot of time locked in his room lately, and Nina had spent many hours leaning against his closed doorway and listening as the notes of the various instruments he played sifted through the few inches that separated them. She recognized the music he played as his own, as there was that strange ethereal quality that made his own works significant, but she hadn't a clue what he was really doing. Behind his closed doors, Erik had been carefully constructing his newest masterpiece. Don Juan was finished, probably never to be performed again, but this was something he was counting on to make his name go down in history as one of the best composers of his era. This time, however, he was not writing the prima donna's part for a soprano. No, the heroine of his grand story would be a complete contralto, a Spanish maiden with long black hair and deep resonating tones to outline her solo performances.

"What is this, Nina?" Nadir asked, looking up from his deep conversation with Victor. "You sing?"

Both she and Erik answered no and yes simultaneously and the two gave a disdainful look to each other. She did not consider herself a singer, but he did.

"I've been teaching her." He told them, designing an answer that would satisfy both him and Nina.

Nadir smiled, but on the inside he began to worry. In Persia he had worked in politics, and he knew that history had a way of repeating itself. If Erik lost another singing student to another man the outcome would only be catastrophic. Feeling the blood drain from his face as he imagined the possible woes in store for them all, including him, he stared blankly at the pretty girl sitting on the couch opposite him. Nina sat closely to the masked man beside her, curling into his presence with a slight smile that never left her round face. Her blue eyes framed by thick, dark eyelashes caressed him warmly and her hand strayed over his gently. Though Erik was not the type of man to openly show affection for someone else in front of others, by the soft gentle looks he occasionally gave her, Nadir could easily tell that he cared for her greatly. Suppressing an agitated sigh, the Persian man closed his jade eyes for a moment and tried to calm himself, knowing that the more Erik was attached to someone the worse the possible consequences could be.

"If Erik's teaching you then your voice must be something to listen to." Nadir said, snapping his eyes open. Before Nina had a chance to reply, however, he continued. "He taught me a bit while we both worked for the Shah in Persia. Of course, that was before the little sultana went mad and tried to kill us both and we had to smuggle ourselves out of the country and back here. I never much stuck with it, though."

"Anshel sings." Victor said, simply. "He's quite good."

"No, I'm really not." The servant answered quickly, his pale cheeks dusting over with a slight flush.

"Come now, don't be modest, I've heard you singing when you think no one can hear. Those songs are very beautiful."

Anshel nodded meekly, crossing his arms behind his back and looking down at his feet. Though Erik could not see them clearly, he thought he saw Anshel's blue eyes staring carefully at Nadir through his peripheral vision, wide and boring into the floor boards beneath his shoes, but still watching him carefully. He was clearly agitated, though Erik pretended not to notice. He had easily deduced that the servant had some sort of infatuation with his friend, and for that, he pitied him. Erik highly doubted his _old friend _would ever be interested in a relationship longer than a few days, especially with someone as abnormal as Anshel. Easily connecting to him through the throes of unrequited love, he grimaced, though Erik himself anticipated the moment when the _young man's _secret was discovered by the other people that surrounded their lives. It would be disastrous, no doubt, but Erik knew that all mysteries eventually unraveled themselves. He had learned that well enough when Christine had ripped his mask away, first for her own eyes, and then for the eyes of Paris.

"Well, am I the only one here without any talent?" Victor exclaimed after a prolonged moment of silence, earning an amused laugh from both Nina and Nadir. "But Erik I still haven't heard you sing, and both Emily and Nina speak so fondly of you. I wish I had been there the other day when you sang for little Charlotte."

"You should sing now, Erik!" Nadir suggested, loud enough to make both Erik and Nina flinch as the volume of his voice fell on their unnaturally sensitive ear drums.

"I'm too tired." He protested, weakly, closing his eyes and waving away the man's comment with a weary hand.

"Sing or I'll sing!" The Persian insisted. He opened his mouth and began singing the beginning of some obnoxious tavern song and Erik immediately silenced him with a deep glower, filled with hate and a few other things enough to make Nadir shut up.

"Sing, Erik." Nina said, quietly, smiling at him with impossible softness. If it had been anyone else asking him to sing he would have immediately said no, as he had just done to Nadir, but there were two people in the world capable of swaying his stubborn tiredness enough to make his will energetic enough to burst forth an aria. One was sitting closely next to him, her leg pressed against his, her sweet scent perfuming him calmingly, her pretty eyes wide and observant as she watched him with adoration in her face, and the other was probably somewhere in Paris with her husband, spending the day doing trivial things with a trivial man and filling her own pretty eyes with the sight of cheap beauties.

"Fine." He consented, quietly, standing.

Closing his eyes, a few soft words of Italian floated from his lips. He was not singing something of his own works, that was too personal to sing in front of such a crowd, but another, virtually unknown composer. It was not like the songs he sang for Nina or like the ones he had once sung for Christine. These were instead of a lighter nature, one he knew the occupants of the room would readily accept, and, opening his eyes, he saw the entire room was in the usual swoon he usually sent people into with his powerful voice. Both Nina and Victor stared at him, their eyes misty and distant, and Nadir had his own jade eyes closed in concentration, as if trying to preserve each lyric inside his memory. Anshel, however, looked almost as if he was about to be sick, his smooth, clean face pale and drained of blood, and Erik was just in time to step forward and catch the young man in a heavy faint. His spell broke the moment he stopped singing and all three of the previously incapacitated individuals watched aptly as Erik placed Anshel over the floor, one hand expertly checking the pulse of the unconscious person who had suddenly become his patient.

"Should I call for a doctor?" Nina questioned, following Nadir and Erik and quickly kneeling at Anshel's side.

"No need. You should let me do that, Erik. I have more medical training than you, in case you can't remember." The Persian man said, becoming serious within moments as duty called. "We should check his lungs and heartbeat, as well. Remember when you made that one baron pass out? It did not end well for either him or us."

"How was I to know he had a heart murmur?" Erik snapped. "Leave me be, Daroga. I'll do it."

"Victor, my friend, do you know if young Anshel has any health problems?" Nadir asked, fumbling as he placed a pair of small spectacles over his eyes.

"Even if he does he wouldn't have told me, he's so secretive." Victor said, watching the scene before him numbly.

Though he had been advised not to, Nadir began to unbutton the young man's coat so that he could easily measure the time it took for Anshel to make his chest rise and fall with the swelling of breath. Nina withdrew from the room to allow privacy for the fainted man, and, just as he was about to begin unbuttoning the meticulously and obsessively perfectly arranged waistcoat, a cold hand bit down on Nadir's wrist like an iron clamp, sharply cutting off necessary blood flow.

"Why are you so adamant about me not examining him?" He asked, scowling bitterly and sharply shaking Erik's hold off him with a great deal of effort.

"I'll tell you later." Erik said, speaking in the same language the two had often used in Persia so that Victor, who was watching Anshel's limp body with mild shock, his fair eyes narrowed under a bent brow, would not overhear them.

The tone of his voice instantly silenced the Persian and he stood and took a step back, grimly watching as his friend calculated the other boy's vital signs.

"Help me carry him upstairs." Erik ordered after he decided Anshel was perfectly fine other than being asleep. "We'll let him sleep for a while and if he doesn't wake we'll do a more thorough examination." He continued, gripping the boy beneath his arms and, together with Victor carrying him by the legs, hoisted him up, though he was surprisingly light. "Nina!" He called, grasping Anshel's thin and narrow shoulders with ease. In a moment, Nina reappeared inside the room, the fabric of her thin skirt revealing her boots prettily. "You don't mind if we put him in your room for now, do you?"

She shook her head, tossing her wavy black hair around her shoulders, and, with her arms tucked behind her back, she followed the three men upstairs as they carried the unconscious boy to her room and bed, oddly silent. She had been listening at the door, and she had had her suspicions before, but she still dd not know exactly what was so aberrant about Anshel. He was strange, she saw that plainly, but she could not finger what was strange about him. Shaking her head internally, she dispelled her thoughts, thinking it rude to dwell on someone else's business. But maybe she would ask Erik about it later. He and Anshel both certainly seemed to know quite a bit about each other, the two acting like the most intimate of enemies.

Once the four had situated the servant on the clean white linen of Nina's bed, Nadir turned to Victor and said, "He seems to be a bit troublesome for a mere assistant."

"He's much more than that, I would think." The fair haired man said to him. "He's really more of a friend or younger brother. Actually, despite him being so young, I would say he's my older brother! He's definitely wise enough to be, and he's much smarter then me. Spends all of his time reading and reading."

"He's like you." Nina said to Erik with a fleeting smile, her long eyelashes casting shadows over her cheeks.

"I suppose," He murmured back to her, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand behind his back so she would not see his distaste at being likened to the masquerading boy. "Nina, why don't you show Victor the garden?"

Knowing very well that Victor had already seen the garden, she nodded, sensing that Erik needed to talk with his old friend by himself. Gripping her own old friend by the arm she led him outside of the room, and he could not help but think about the changes that Nina had gone through since the time when she first left for France with Rousseau, whom he and Emily had both hoped she would marry, and now that she had settled into an existence with a strange, temperamental, man with an imposing silence that could make the strongest man shake like a leaf in a gale. Though she was still quite happy and kind, Nina was n longer the loud , laughing thing she had once been. Now she was almost as quiet as her suitor and, to add to his worry, she seemed to be becoming as secretive as Anshel. She spoke rarely to him about herself or Erik, preferring to sit quietly and listen to the others around her speak, watching with an intense observancy as conversation slipped between person and person in front of her. She was, however, not even close to the species of dim witted woman raised to keep their silence. Instead she seemed to watch and absorb everything with a sharp eye, only adding her own voice into a conversation when she had something infinitely wise to say. All in all, it seemed to Victor that Nina had begun to model herself after Erik. Or, as he sometimes thought, her experience with Rousseau had merely made her grow up to view the world with a cynical view. Either way he did not like the reason for her change of behavior but, as there was nothing he could do about it, he merely gave an internal sigh and buried down his concern.

"Have you made any conclusions about him, Daroga?" Erik asked Nadir quietly after both Nina and Victor had left the room.

With painstaking slowness, Nadir removed Anshel's spectacles from his fair face, taking in every aspect of the sleeping person before him. It seemed to him that the being he now saw was a character out of the Western fairy tales he had told his late son over a dozen years ago, childish stories about little girls who were eaten by wolves and saved by ax-men, or nonsensical fairy tales about princesses enchanted into an endless era of dreams. Who was this Grimm's character? he asked himself.

"I didn't notice until now, but I feel like an idiot for not having seen it." He said, humorously, running a dark skinned hand over Anshel's pale, smooth throat.

"He's so handsome I think I may die from it." Gisquette whispered, eying the lovely featured lord across the dining hall from her.

"By far the most beautiful man I've ever seen." Lienarde agreed, her dark curls bouncing as she gave a tittering laugh at her lovesick friend. "Should we speak to him?" She suggested, dangerously coy.

Hearing the two woman's laughter from across the room, the pale man with the dark hair looked up and smiled at them, knowing very well what they were talking about. Setting down his brew of English tea, he set aside the book he had been reading and, stepping up from the plush seat where he had been lounging comfortably while secretly eying them like a tiger stalking prey, he walked over to them. Upon seeing that he had noticed their excess attention, one of the girls, Gisquette, blushed violently, and the other, Lienarde, smiled bravely at him before following her friend and casting down her eyes modestly. Though she did not know why, it seemed to Lienarde that she could not look into his dark eyes for very long.

"Hello, Monsieur." Gisquette managed to murmur. "What would a fine man like you be doing going 'cross the sea?"

Inviting himself to sit beside them, the handsome man crossed his legs and leaned back comfortably, and the two girls could see that his features were not only charming from afar, but dazzling up close. His ink black hair was pulled back into a thin tail captured by a white ribbon and his skin, as white and flawless as porcelain, was complimented by his lush gossamer eyelashes enshrouding eyes so black their pupils were barely discernible in their depths. His lips were a mute, pale pink and his finely made clothes were devoid of all color, his trousers, jacket, waistcoat, cravat, and shoes all black, only his crisp white shirt being excluded from what appeared to be mourning attire.

Had the two girls known exactly who this man was, however, they would have known that he was not mourning at all. Black was the color he merely felt the best in and, as he was sincerely vain, thought himself to look best in.

"Oh, I'm merely looking for an old friend who I had a falling out with in Paris. I do have meaning to believe she is in contact with some mutual friends of ours and I very much would like to see her again."

"A woman?" Lienarde questioned dimly, her lips pouting slightly on hearing that the pretty man had some sort of close bond with some sort of girl.

"A kind, modest, beautiful woman who means very much to me. A woman who I perhaps plan to marry if I do not find some other pretty thing to steal my affections before I find her again." He whispered to the woman silkily, taking in the natural red rouge of their cheeks, blood that demanded to be spilt and that he would do so graciously, letting the familiar shivers of pleasure he often experienced overtake him as each girl whimpered and moaned and cried softly at his gifts.

They were simple, half artisan-half aristocrat girls, raised dimly on nothing but piety, but they were not like the prudent Nina and the other lovers he had taken before. Their lowered necklines and raised skirt hems, obvious attempts at catching his attention, already displayed their lack of modesty and the man knew he would have them easily that night if he wanted, but this was not the case. Like a wolf toying with its prey, he would goad them for the next few days into thinking he nothing but a kind and handsome gentleman, a chaste and eager lover of Christ, and then, just when they thought him the purest man they had ever met, he would quickly turn their opinions upside down in a locked room at night, sinking into the delicious feeling of the horror and shock spreading across their faces when they realized who he really was.

**Sorry I vanished off the face of the Earth for nearly a month. I've been in the hospital for nearly two weeks really frustrated about my inability to write or sing or do any of the other things I love. My internal organs just can't seem to call a truce together and it is exceptionally hard to write when you're on heavy painkillers. But I should be getting out sometime this week so I'll try to update quicker next time. I'm really hoping to get this finished by next February. :) Thanks readers. TTFN.**


	25. Chapter 25

The noisy room hushed the moment its occupants became aware of the majority of the candles that filled the bright tavern being snuffed out, sending the room into a dusky but comfortable gloom. Erik, leaning smoothly in the corner farthest away from the multitude of people, watched with his flashing eyes as a figure became visible in the room, shrouded with dust, her blue dress looking black in the darkness. Every now and then a flicker of light would shine through her eyes, giving the people around her a glimpse of their violet iridescence, and, when such an occurrence happened and her eyes lifted with heavy lids from their mask of thick, black lashes, a brush of murmurs swept through the room. For a long while she was silent, seemingly unaware of her audience, looking around with a simple, confused innocence, her long, wavy black hair curtained over her dark skinned shoulders as she pursed the tips of her long black gloves to her painted lips.

Somewhere to the right of the room, the stringy and harmonizing sounds of a freshly tuned piano cut through the cold air, and every being stilled as she began to sing. Warm, rich, and fragile syllables emanated from her golden throat, and, though her libretto was no doubt nothing but pure, unadulterated beauty, the room was instantly sent into a wave of hypnotic dizziness at her calm, quiet vibrato. As she performed, Nina's eyes wandered over each face that stared at her, nervousness making her voice falter more than once, but, when Erik caught her eye and gave her a proud, affectionate look, she resurfaced with a new found strength. Soft tones and words fell from her cupid's bow lips, attracting all attentions but that of one dark skinned, Persian man, who stood in the pitch black essence behind the pretty contralto, hidden by shadows and watching Erik carefully.

The seemingly unmasked man observed his student and lover with a mixture of intensity and adoration, and Nadir crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in an expression of concern for both of his friends.

Nadir was tired. So very tired. He had barely slept ten hours in the past week and he was functioning on nothing but sheer will, now. He had concerned himself until he was about ready to be ill, and he was incredibly tired of caring for every

"You shouldn't worry so much." A delicate voice murmured to his right. "She worships him, he worships her. What could go wrong? As long as another man doesn't catch her eye there shouldn't be a problem."

"That's not why I'm worried. Quite the opposite actually." He murmured back, shifting his stance slightly. Blinking his eyes with severe exhaustion, he felt a cold hand being placed over his arm, as if trying to comfort his invisible troubles. In response, he gave a weary sigh, letting the person at his side grip him with a slight strength, a minimal power earned from carrying large books to and fro each day. "I'm concerned about a certain soprano resurfacing from the backs of the Paris newspapers coming to England and catching his eye."

A long pause drifted between them, each listening distantly to the faint voice of the young woman in front of them. Nadir thought their conversation over, but the delicate voice soon decided otherwise, retreating its hand from his arm almost anxiously.

"You think Christine Daae would really do that?"

"Christine de Chagny, now." He said absentmindedly. Nadir was still and quiet for a long time after that, and the voice thought vaguely about walking away and leaving him to his own devices before he opened his mouth and began to speak again, "I don't know. I've never met her. But it's definitely a possibility." The dark skinned man turned slightly to look closely at the person at his side, squinting to make out the thin, bird-like figure of Anshel in the overpowering, oppressive darkness. He nearly smiled when he made out the shape of some leather bound encyclopedia pressed carefully against the servant's chest. "After all," He said, his jade eyes raking over the servant's body with a distasteful and analytical stare. "Woman can behave very strangely." In an instance, the serious tone of his eyes and voice lifted, and he strained to see the sky blue eyes before him. Though it was barely perceptible, he witnessed those blue eyes widen in alarm, Anshel's pale face burning as bright as a rose as Nadir leaned his face closer to his."You have the night off?"

"Yes." He retorted rudely, his eyes quickly narrowing and darting to the side as his finely shaped lips knelt into a frown, stepping backwards to escape from the Persian man's pressuring presence. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"

"Of course not." Nadir whispered, listening intently as Nina's solo finished and the room erupted into a ferocious applause. "I already know."

Too preoccupied with Nina's display of talent, Erik did not notice the intimate conversation going on between Nadir and Anshel behind her beautiful form. In fact, as soon as her song finished, he immediately summoned her over to him with a dark and silent smile, watching arrogantly as the room's attention turned towards the man who had secured the pretty, young, talented rose. As soon as she stepped within reach of his arm, which instantly found its usual home around her waist, he declared to the tavern in his unearthly voice, "Ladies and Gentleman, Nina Ward."

As the essence of Erik's own throat gushed throughout the room, the men and woman seated at rickety, scrubbed tables declared their approval of the unexpected showcase loudly, making both him and Nina cringe at the excess volume. A rush of frivolous looking woman whose hair and clothes were styled in an unkempt fashion immediately jumped up to speak with Nina, crudely reminding Erik of the ballet brats back at the Paris Opera House. Swap out those tattered dresses for tights and tutus, he mused to himself silently, and they'd make a perfect fit. A few seconds later, however, one of the woman who had been drinking heavily fell to the floor on her knees, laughing hysterically at her own clumsiness, and he quickly changed his mind with a skeptical shake of the head.

His previous ears spent in isolation making him feel increasingly uncomfortable amongst the onslaught of people, he backed away into the corner where he had previously stood, his eyes searching for Nadir but unable to see or hear him in the chaos.

Though the flouncy tavern birds immediately flocked to the new diva, Erik was glad to see that the many men in the room merely sat at their tables and counters or even, in some places, the floor. Some watched Nina with a distant eye, and some watched him with a wary one, as if sizing him up, and some had already cast their eyes back to their drinks, instantly finding Erik too complicated a variable to even attempt pursuing the Spanish beauty that had, moments before, enraptured them all. He happily marked them as the wisest men in the room, smiling broadly when Nina looked over at him from the group that had established themselves around her, watching happily as the tipsy woman fawned over her.

Everywhere around her Nina felt adored, and she could not deny that she loved the feeling, the swarm of compliments being thrown at her making her modest cheeks bloom with a blush deep enough to rival Anshel's before her. After some time, however, the loud, raunchy noises became too tedious for her and she quickly found her way to Erik's side, pressing the palms of her hands into his and whispering to him in so soft a whisper that not even a man with immensely gifted hearing would be able to hear their conversation unless he pressed his ears to their lips.

"Take me home, won't you? It's fun here, and the people are kind, but it's too loud."

"Of course." He murmured to her, ignoring the eyes of the people that watched them both.

Not even ten minutes later he closed the door of their home gently behind them both, Erik's estate situated closely to Nadir's tavern, and Nina, claiming exhaustion and a head ache, slipped up the stairs and out of his sight.

Sitting at the little vanity table in her room, Nina removed the sparkling diamond earrings and necklace Erik had given her before running a brush through her hair in the darkness. Feeling two cold hands manifest themselves over her shoulders, she jumped, only relaxing when she saw the two luminescent orbs of Erik's eyes reflecting eerily against the surface of the mirror in front of her.

"Have I ever told you, _mon Rosette, _how endearingly beautiful you are?" He whispered to her in his silky voice, making her face flush in the absence of light. He ran his hand over her shoulder lightly and she felt her skin prickle over under his faint touch. Immediately, she could tell something had changed between them both just now. The confidence he had gained from her performance had banished any timidness that remained within him about her. Without words she could easily tell that he would no longer hesitate to do anything he pleased to her, and the thought both delighted and horrified her. He could pleasure her as much as he wanted, but if she ever denied him Nina was not sure if he would ever stop himself from harming her.

"Only a thousand times." Nina said with a small laugh, shaking off the incredible feeling of joy and terror that was overwhelming her.

Without another word she felt his unmasked face against her as he pressed his lips against her neck, and Nina gasped before pressing the back of her head into his shoulder, reveling in the delicious feeling of his breath against her skin.

"I love you." He said, wrapping his arms around her body and pressing her close to him. "I want you, I _need _you." Erik's lips brushed against her cheek as he spoke and, as his arms pressed against the swelling of her breasts, Nina felt her blood begin to pound between her legs, the pulsing he inspired in her making a shuddering sigh escape her lips. "You are the most kind, beautiful, exceptional, fantastic, amazing woman I have ever met. You must be a goddess. There is no other explanation. Make love to me tonight, won't you, my idol? Make love to me and make my life complete!" He said, his words dripping with desperation as she felt flames of desire begin to ignite themselves within her veins.

"Would you want me now, my love, when we could be married so easily?" She gasped, standing quickly and kicking her bench aside so that she could press her body into his more fully. At her words, he paused into stillness, the only evidence of motion about him the quick rise and all of his chest.

"What?" Erik asked, slowly, his entire body stilling, unable to comprehend the meaning of her words.

"Why risk our souls to the flame when we could be married by tonight?"

"I don't understand what you're saying." He said again, his illuminated eyes fixed on a distant point past her, his hands frozen in the air around her, his finger tips hovering inches away from her body as if he was afraid to touch her.

"We could elope. Tonight. We would be married, we could do anything, go anywhere, and nobody could tell us otherwise!" Nina said, stumbling over her sudden idea. "And everything we do would all be in the light of the Lord! We would no longer be sinners but a man and wife. Do you understand?"

"You would. . . marry me?" He said, quietly, his eyes focused on the ground at their feet as if he was a blind man diverting his gaze for the comfort of others.

"Of course." Nina said, smiling broadly. "I love you, Erik. You've given me home, happiness, and your heart. What more could I want?" He was silent at her question and she smiled even more broadly, her sweet gaze filled with a tender fondness as her blue eyes bore into him, her dense lashes making shadows appear across her round cheeks. "I adore you, Erik."

"And I. . . I love you." He told her, finally letting his hands fall back onto her body, though they had both lost their previously heated fervor for each other. "Alright," He said, and, in the dim light, Nina could barely catch the proud grin over his face. "We'll be married. We'll go to the little chapel uptown. But not tonight. Tomorrow afternoon. I have very important things to do in the morning." Erik explained, straightening his cravat and jacket before turning curtly and stepping out of the room without a further word or clarification, leaning Nina alone in her room once again.

The young woman dressed for the night, pulling her mass of raven locks out of the collar of her night gown, and sat back on her bed, softly. In the dark, she lay back and imagined how much her life would change after tomorrow. Victor and Emily would be upset with her and Erik about eloping, of all things, but their anger would soon simmer down. They understood what it felt like to be in love. And surely Nadir would be no less than ecstatic at their union. It had been months since they had first moved to England and, every now and then, the Persian would pull her to the side, give her a wink, and ask if Erik had asked her any questions yet. She had always smiled and shaken her head, but it had got her mind thinking of marriage. She smiled when imagining the reaction she would get from him when telling him that it had been her who had proposed, already sensing his loud, happy laugh.

They would be married, finally, Nina mused to herself. He could finally stop being so obsessive over her, suspiciously worrying that some other man would steal her away. They would finally be able to kiss in front of their friends without the disapproval of others. She would finally be able to let go of all her worries from the past and embrace the light of the future. She would finally be able to sleep in his arms every night again as she had done before and he would not be able to offer her any refusal. They would finally be able to make love without so much as a sin in sight.

Nina laughed to herself in the silence of the night, burying herself within the embrace of her soft bed clothes as she knew that tonight would be the last night she slept alone.

She only wondered what Erik's important plans were.


	26. Chapter 26

Erik stepped up to the doorway, the suave black of his clothes seeming to fit in with the gloomy and oppressed atmosphere around him. He raised his hand to the knocker of the doorway, but before he could clasp the cold metal in his lithe fingers the door opened, a wizened old man in an ill fitting servant's suit stood at the door, wheezing in a way that made Erik feel incredibly uncomfortable. The man stared at him for a moment, clutching a battered pocket watch to his chest as he took in the dark, almost villainous figure before him.

"May I help you, sir?" The old man eventually said, shoving his pocket watch back into the miniscule slit of his breast pocket.

"Yes," Erik said slowly, still surveying the old servant with a generous amount of distaste. "I need to speak with the master of this household."

The old man hesitated before allowing him entrance into the home. By merely looking around Erik could tell that the manor around him had once bee a place of great grandeur and magnificence, but it had long since fallen into disrepair and decay. The Persian carpets at his feet were worn and frayed, the mahagony banister of the stairwell in front of him was scuffed, unpolished, and chipped in some places where he wood had simply crumbled away, and, everywhere around him, he sensed the ghosts of music and happiness, though there was nothing but silence in the home now.

"May I have your name, sir?" The old man asked him, taking the heavy, cape like coat from Erik's outstretched hand obediently.

"Perault." He said, simply, feeling too cold to give his Christian name.

"Thank you, sir." Without another word, the man turned and left up the stairs, the heels of his shoes clicking against the blotched marble as he did so.

Erik, with his divine hearing, listened closely and began to discern other noises in the house. Somewhere, behind a heavy door, an older man was speaking to someone strangely, his voice rough and quiet, nostalgic and remembering. Though he could hear the man's voice, he could not discern any words and he silently wondered what in the world the man could be talking about. As he wondered, he began to hear the familiar sound of footsteps down the stairs, and the old servant man looked at him and gave a small smile that made the wrinkles in his pale face stand out drastically.

"Master Leonado invites you to his office. I will show you there."

Erik followed the man up the once great staircase, taking in faded tapestries and dull vases, metallics in need of polishing and many, many closed doors. Quickly, he found himself being ushered into warmly heated office, a stark contrast from the rest of the house. It seemed that this was the one place where time had not wielded its oppresive cane to tarnish nearly every surface and object, and it made Erik feel somewhat comfortable. The curtains were half drawn, allowing only a faint stream of light inside the room, and Erik was incredibly reminded of his home beneath the opera house, and the carpeting at his feet was of a rich red velvet. Behind a glossy, mahogony desk, a pale man with hair the color of corn silk sat situated at ease, his vibrant blue eyes so violet they were nearly purple. Despite the vibrancy of his eyes, however, he looked immensely bored, almost like a child forced to do his fathers business for the day.

His entire demeanor had a thick essence of childishness and immaturity, his utter person completely relaxed and lazy. To Erik, he was a complete and utter bachelor.

"Good evening, sir." The man, presumably Leonardo, said, his eyes warm and welcoming but his lips refusing to smile. "I welcome you to my home and offer you a seat." The young man gestured somewhat vaguely to one of the chairs opposite his desk, nodding once. When Erik did, he held out his hand for the other man to shake it, and he did so, limply. "What brings you to my estate this morning?"

"I believe," Erik began, folding his gloved hands neatly and looking at the person opposite him, his posture tense and rigid as it often became when he was nervous. "You once knew a young girl servant girl who worked here with her mother by the name of Saturnina."

The man paused, his face contemplative as if immersing himself in thoughts that he had not dreamt of in some time. As Erik watched the man in silence, he brushed his blond hair cross his pale forehead. His blue eyes, though beautiful, lacked something that he could see easily in Nina's. It took away from their beauty devastatingly, and Erik found himself averting his cool gaze from them.

"Nina." Leonardo said to himself, thoughtfully, as if feeling the word on his tongue for the first time in several years. "She was my closest companion as a child," He confided in Erik, looking at him curiously, his blue eyes sparking with confusion. Erik, remembering the time when Nina had first spoken of her brother, recalled how, as a child, Leonardo had tried to kiss her. His thoughts dwelling on this, he began to feel increasingly uncomfortable as their conversation continued further. "But I haven't seen or spoken to her in nearly five years. The last time I saw her was when we were children." He further elaborated, shaking his head slightly to himself. After a moment, however, his brow furrowed and he bit his bottom lip before saying, "My God, do you know her?"

"I know her very well." Erik said, his voice quiet, his eyes shining like a cat's in the dim light. "She is a lovely young woman, both in terms of beauty, talent, and intelligence." He spoke, slowly, his words calm and careful, obviously well thought out though he spoke with nothing but complete honesty. "Which is exactly why I have come here this morning. I have-"

"Excuse me, sir, but who are you?" Leonardo interrupted him, his eyes twitching into a narrowed stance for a slim second, giving him a look of suspicion. "You have not even introduced yourself." He said, almost daring to be contemptuous but sensing that the darkly clothed man before him was not one to be trifled with. "I merely have your name, and even then you are too curt to share your Christian name. Isn't it proper courtesy to give your full name and title to a man when he so readily gives him yours?"

Erik found himself suppressing a flustered and annoyed sigh at this boy's interruptions, digging the fingertips of one hand into the palm of another to calm himself. Taking a moment to compose himself in which the other man stared at him, he continued. What could he do but comply with his hosts wishes? After all, was he not here to seek his approval and blessing? Thinking of this last thought, he almost scoffed to himself. He was at least a decade older than this boy. He shouldn't have to ask him permission for anything. But he was a man of tradition, and he knew Nina would be pleased if he did this small task.

Sighing internally, he continued, his voice somewhat darkened as he spoke, his words sharp. "My name is Erik Perault. I am a friend of the lady in verse. A very dear friend." He said, slowly, waiting for comprehension to dawn in Leonardo's eyes. When it did at a decidedly short time, he transitioned his monologue. "In fact, I hold her so close to my mind and soul that I intend to marry her." He paused again, waiting for some sort of reaction, and he was content with the small, distant and detached nod that the other man gave him. "Both her mother and her mother's husband are deceased, so I have come here to ask your permission for her hand."

For a long time, young Leonardo was extremely silent. He stared at Erik for a while until his eyes dropped to his hands, which were clasped and folded like a pilgrim praying. Eventually, he cleared his throat, his voice somewhat softer and higher, his eyes still downcast. "My permission. . . ." He murmured, almost as if he was a child. "Then you must know of her parentage." Erik said something that sounded like an agreement, and the violet eyes in front of him hastily disappeared behind light, previously carefree lids. "It was quite a scandal when we were children, but I don't think we ever noticed. My mother despised her, though. I'm sure it must be terrible when the lady of your house does nothing but glower at you for your entire youth."

"And?" Erik said, hIs voice lilting contemptuously.

"And?" Leonardo asked him, dreamily, his mind caught in some far off place, perhaps in a nursery with a little girl he loved dearly, a little girl who had been lost to him for the past five years.

"Your answer?" Erik questioned in return, his eyebrows raised with slight patronization.

"Oh, yes!" The young man said, awaking from his dream with a startled snap. Quickly, he stood and forced his thin arms behind his back, polite and respectful. "I give you all my blessing, but it is really not my permission to give." Leonardo said, seriously. "My father, our father, that is, is here, as well. It would be much more appropriate to ask him, wouldn't you think?" Before Erik had a chance to reply, Leonardo grabbed his hand in a surprisingly firm grip and pulled him upwards, leading him to the door of the comfortable office. "Of course it is!" He answered for him. "I'm sure he would be quite pleased to find that Nina is doing well in life. I know I am quite content to hear that my sister has found herself a husband. Wait," He suddenly paused in his rant after pulling Erik into the hallway, looking up into the older man's face since he was substantially shorter, his thick eyebrows bent in a mixture of suspicion and concentration. "That reminds me. She does want to marry you, doesn't she?"

A true rarity, Erik felt himself smile. "Very much. After all, she is the one who suggested marriage."

The corners of Leonardo's mouth twitched upwards slightly, as if he meant to smile, but whatever pleased expression may have surfaced soon vanished as he started off down the hallway again, asking Erik dozens of questions concerning his half sister, all of which he answered with supreme ease.

"You're a Frenchman." He stated, casually, nodding with perfect courtesy. "Does Nina reside in France now? Or is she still here in England? And how is it that you both met?"

Erik answered the first question with perfect truth, but it took him a moment to formulate a lie to soothe the boy's rampant curiosity. "I met her when I moved here from France." He began, still tripping over his thoughts in an attempt to find a good response that wold please the young man. "I have a friend by the name of Victor who she knew, as well. He introduced us. We took a liking to each other, you could say." He said, smiling suavely when he remembered the initial annoyance he had felt in her presence. How quickly that changed, he mused to himself, his hand absentmindedly reaching up to the collar of his shirt where he could feel the string of pearls she had given him through the thin fabric.

Leonardo stopped at a closed door, his face stark and blank, and a pink slip darted across his lower lip, moistening it while thinking. While he was thinking of whatever he was thinking of, Erik noticed for the first time the purple circles laced underneath his eyes, the unnatural pallor, as if he had not been immersed in nature for some time, and the over all air of exhaustion that cloaked the young man. He saw, now, a young man grown old before his time. He was only a few years older than Nina, but he was now, officially, the master and provider of this decrepit household. Erik dispelled the urge to shake his head in pity at the boy who had had too much responsibility thrust on him too soon.

"My father is ill," He said, smoothly, absentmindedly brushing away the blond tips of his hair away from his forehead. "His health is diminishing rapidly, I'm afraid. I suppose it's a good thing you came when you did." Leonardo explained, taking out his watch and observing the time, as if counting the minutes of which his father would remain living. Hastily, and with a scowl, he returned it. "He is just through this door, in bed rest. He is lucid enough, however. You should be able to carry out a conversation with him."

Erik nodded and, to his surprise, Leonardo opened the door and ushered him in without placing a single foot in the room himself. Immersed in sudden light, he felt something close to agitation as his eyes were forced to re accustom themselves to the harsh brightness. The room was richly furnished, though all pieces were heavily outdated. The carpets, hangings, and plush velvet seats were all well cared for, but they were things as old as two decades, as if the inhabitant of the room was still trying to desperately cling to his past. As he stepped towards the bedside of his adoration's father, Erik directly believed this to be the case.

"Who is this?" The old man asked him. Though withered, his face still held all the beauty of the same violet eyes he had given his children, and Erik could not possibly doubt Nina's parentage as his eyes poured into the image of the frail old being, the thin body seemingly sunken into the vast surface of his bed, buried beneath mounds upon mounds of bed clothes. "A visitor?"

He nodded in answer and, reaching into the inside of his waistcoat, Erik pulled out a small, carefully painted portrait, and handed it to the aged man, asking in a voice with a gentle dynamic, "Do you recognize this woman at all?"

As he watched distantly, the man brushed his fingertips against the oil painted surface, drifting his wrinkled skin across the dark hair and glistening eyes of the smiling woman there. "Yes," He murmured, quietly, staring into the portrait with nostalgia and a hint of pain. "Maria." He said, decidedly, before shaking his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "No," He whispered a moment later, his magnificent eyes widening with grace and surprise. "Nina." He said, his whisper bright with energy.

"Yes." Erik said, quietly, afraid to speak any louder in fear that he may somehow break the glass man beside him. "Your daughter, Nina."

"My daughter," The man said, closing his eyes, his fragile body seeming to sink back into the surface of his bed. With his bony hands, he clutched the portrait to his chest, perhaps trying t bring it closer o his heart. "I was a changed man when they both left, but I could do nothing about it. My wife threatened to tell everyone of my affair and I knew it would ruin not only my name, but my son's name." He paused in his explanation, his lips bent in sorrow. Erik, though he rarely connected to other humans, could easily relate to this man's steady confession. How many hours had he lain with guiltY fingers twisted into his flesh after a murder, Hell's fire already trickling into his soul to sear his bones?

"I did not come here for answers to your actions, sir, but if it eases any of your pain, I will gladly hear them."

"Then I will gladly give them to you." The old man spoke again, his voice hoarse and ragged. "My wife has been dead for two years now. Consumption. I have never felt anything for her. But I loved Maria, and I loved Nina just as much as I loved our own holy son, and she couldn't stand it. So, when I admitted to her of my adultery, I thought to myself, why make my son miserable for my own pleasure when I can simply give him a life without trouble and bear the misery myself?" He said, his eyes still closed, his hands beginning to tremble slightly over the little oil portrait. "So, with a large sum of money, I forced myself to send both of them away. When I heard of Maria's death a few months later, I alienated my wife because she would not let me retrieve my daughter." He paused again, his chest rising and falling deeply, as if asleep. "When my wife died, I searched for my daughter everywhere I could, but I never found her. Please, if you will, tell me where my daughter is, my friend."

"Your daughter is well, I assure you." Erik told him, feeling a sense of peace when a rush of relief washed over the other man's face. "She is very well. Her beauty is unmatched. Her kindness is equally infinite." He said, his sharp golden eyes softening slightly. "She has the most beautiful singing voice."

"You seem to be very fond of her."

"I love her." He said, contently, his lips curving into a gracious smile. "As I am a man of the old world, I would prefer to ask you for her hand before marrying her."

The man's eyes blinked open, and the light from the window caught their unique color, seeming to illuminate them as his own eyes illuminated when introduced to the dark. "First, you must promise me that she is willing to marry you."

Erik almost laughed. It was the second time he had been asked that question in one morning, but it seemed to him a ridiculous notion that Nina would ever be unwilling to bind herself with him in matrimony. True, they had known each other less than a year, but he knew she had probably been thinking of the idea for some time. She was merely the type of woman to jump into things quickly before wasting her time thinking of them. "She is more than willing. She adores me just as much as I adore her." He reassured the old man. "And I adore her very, very much."

"And you will care for her and provide with her with all your ability? And you will do everything in your power to make sure she leads a happy life?"

"Always."

With a new found energy, the ailing man tentatively reached out a hand and grasped it with a surprising strength over Erik's arm, making the secluded man tense inadvertently. "You must be a saint, sir. You have solved nearly all of my woes." He told him, his eyes glistening over as he sat up in his bed. "I am so very grateful. I can die now, knowing that my daughter is loved and well cared for." Joyously, he grasped Erik's gloved hand in his own. "Marry her and I will be even more pleased."

Erik nodded and murmured a thank you as the man laid back down, thoroughly exhausted after their conversation. "I will leave you to rest now." He said. The man tried to press the portrait of his daughter back into Erik's hands, but he shook his head, refusing to take it back. "I would rather you keep it in your possession." He said, quietly, and he watched as the man placed the picture on the table beside his bed.

"Now I can see both her and her mother whenever I please. Thank you" He said, smiling.

Erik nodded and, without another word, he turned to leave, his stride once again interrupted by someone's words. "Make quite sure before you marry her, sir, that you will not be able to love any other woman more than her. It is a mistake many men make, and, I assure you, it ruins lives."

He allowed himself to nod again, though he was caught by the old man's words. Christine appeared in his mind's eye, and, imagining vividly her brown curls and porcelain skin, he thought he might be ill. Breathing deeply, he placed his hand over the door knob and entered into the hall. Leonardo was still there, a quizzical expression on his face.

"Would you, at all, like to see her?" Erik asked him, attempting to clear his head with speech.

"No." The tired young man replied, seeming to sigh as he spoke. "I should stay here with my father. But. . . maybe one day, if she would like to do so, I would not object."

"Of course," He murmured, the old man's words still echoing in his head.


	27. Chapter 27

They were married, bound forever in a holy bond. For Nina, there was nothing for her to see but a future. She envisioned spending evenings with her husband, singing with a silver throat, sighing with immense warmth as he whispered to her things of love. To Erik, as his wife walked with a springful step beside him in the light of the dying sun, he could see nothing but the past. A year prior he had been a good forty feet below the ground, pining for a woman who would scream in his face when she saw the horrors there. The woman's scream had wounded him, but there was nothing but love in his shaded soul for her. Though it seemed a millennium ago, he found his distant and unreachable, unconsciously thinking of his Angel of Music as he watched his wife walk beside him on the side of the street, smiling with infinite joy, spinning in her wake, her hand occasionally reaching out to clasp his cold fingers.

She was forever his, but Erik had a feeling that he would never be hers to keep so long as the voice of a goddess haunted his every minute

Still, he attempted to be kind and loving for her. She was, after all, the first woman to look upon his face without uttering a terrible moan that would crescendo in their volume until it became a complete eminence of horror. True, his bride was wearing a simple brown dress that fell to her ankles instead of a virgin white gown, but her heart had bled for him and his pain just as much as it had commanded her to give herself to him, body, mind, and soul. Erik owed Nina, at least, what affection he could muster in his dampened person. Maybe in time he would finally be able to forget Christine, but memories of her just seemed to keep dragging themselves into his life.

He loved Nina, after all. He knew that much, and his feelings for Christine had long ago begun to waver, so why on Earth was he letting her hold him back now? They would never meet again, of that he was positive, and here he had a women who had eloped with him without a second thought. It would be best, he decided to himself, to simply immerse himself within Nina's presence so completely that he would no longer have to time to dwell on thoughts concerning Christine.

"We are married." Nina told him, smiling, her hair trailing in the slight spring breeze. "How will we tell our friends? I think they may be angry with us for rushing so soon into matrimony, but I am pleased with the decision." She said, softly, grasping her skirt in her hand so that the entirety of her boots were displayed sweetly.

"Victor and Emily, perhaps." Erik said, letting a gentle smile grace his falsely perfect lips. "I have a feeling, however, that Nadir will be nothing _but _pleased. And even if our friends are upset with us for a while, we will still have one another to keep company."

"And that," Nina said, her voice as smooth and sad as the cloudy sky above them. "Is not always a constant liberty in life." He nodded, incredibly unable to disagree unless he risked himself to hypocrisy. "But how will we tell them? A letter? A note? In person?" She rattled on, her flawless face replacing its expression of happiness to one of worry. "And when should we do it? Tomorrow? Tonight? Right at this moment?"

Nina, facing the expanse of his house, nearly jumped when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin over the gentle curve of her shoulder. Turning her face to his, Erik felt his lips meet hers and a silky sigh escaped from her throat.

"Why don't we just figure it out later?" He murmured as soon as their lips parted again, and, not removing his eyes from hers, Erik absentmindedly unlatched the gate and kicked it open with a solid foot, pulling her into the sanctuary of their well groomed garden. "There are more important things to do at the moment, I believe. . . ." He whispered, and he watched with a mischievous eye as her face blushed, her thick lashes casting innocently maiden shadows over the pink blooms spread over her round cheeks. "Come now," He said, striding up the paved walkway with a dutiful step. "It's warmer inside. I would not like to spend my first week being married tending to an ill wife."

Erik smiled, hearing her laugh behind him, but, when he reached the barrier of his front door, he paused after unlocking it and waited until she stood beside him.

"This is a pointless and idiotic tradition," He told her, watching with cynical eyes as her cupid's bow lips curved into another sweet smile. "But I've always fantasized about doing it." He finished, stooping down with the speed of a cat and, wrapping one arm behind her knees, folded her into his arms, carrying her body with complete ease. Without another word he placed his leather boot over the oaken door and pushed it open, kicking it back into place as soon as he stepped inside.

"Put me down," She commanded, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his thin neck. "I have legs, I can walk!" Nina declared, wiggling as if trying to break herself free from his hold. She was, to his great amusement, unsuccessful in her attempts at freedom. Instead of doing as she demanded, he lithely stepped up the stair before them both, listening as her laughing died, a sudden bout of anxiety crossing over her like a wave, growing greater and greater the closer they each got to his bedroom door. When they reached said door, Erik finally put her down, much to her relief, and Nina smoothed her skirts, nervously.

She had never been in or even seen the interior of his dwelling before, so she did not know what to expect when she clasped the smooth knob in her hand and swung the door open. To her surprise, it was plainly furnished, like any other man's room might be. There was a bed with neatly drawn covers, a small table with a gas lamp she assumed served as a desk, and a comfortable looking arm chair pulled close to the window whose drapes were of a simple white fabric. The only item out of the ordinary was a gleaming and polished piano, an exact twin of the instrument downstairs. For such a complex man, Nina nearly scoffed at the simplicity of the room, especially when her own room was filled with only the finest decorations a woman could ever want or need.

At a loss for words, Nina entered the room and sat on the foot of the bed, twisting her hands in her clump of skirts with immense agitation. She watched with pensive eyes as Erik took a seat beside the piano, folding his hands and contemplating her from afar.

"Have you been informed much on what it is like to lie with a man?" He asked her, his golden eyes beginning to illuminate in the orange essence of the setting sun spilling forth from the window.

"Slightly." Nina murmured, looking down and sweeping a curtain of dark raven hair over her shoulder and away from her face. "I know," She said, her eyes concentrated on her hands placed over her knees. "That it hurts for a woman at first."

His eyes caressing her, Erik gave a small smile. She was so fiery and proud he sometimes forgot that she was still a young woman barely grown out of childhood, still a human who had a tendency to lean towards fear and discomfort in areas that were unfamiliar to her.

"The more relaxed you are," Erik began, standing and stepping over to her side with silent footsteps. "And the more calm and aroused you are, the less it will hurt. I promise." He assured her, placing a hand over her shoulder and rubbing her gently, trying to ease her persistent anxiety. His efforts, however, were in vain. Though she said nothing, her grip on her skirts tightened and she still avoided his gaze, almost as if she was afraid that he would see or sense her reluctance and be unhappy with it.

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the bed beside her and layed back, his legs still hanging off the edge. It had been a long day and, if the evening went the way he wanted it to, the night would promise to be even longer than the morning before. He closed his eyes and for a long while both Erik and Nina sat in silence. After several minutes, her eyes found his form lying so peacefully on the bed she surely thought he must be asleep.

"Come here, won't you?" He said, his voice making her jump slightly in surprise. He beckoned to her and, following his gestures, Nina lay down at his side, relaxing as he looped his solid arm around her body, pulling her closer into the comfort of his scent. "What can I do to make you more comfortable? How may I ease your torment?" He whispered in her ear, the moist warmth of his breath making an expansion of goose flesh spread over her arms and back.

"Have you ever made love with a woman before?" She asked him, suddenly, her lips brushing against his neck and sending a drip of desire down his spine.

Erik hesitated before speaking. He thought, for a moment, of lying to her. She would, no doubt, be more open to the notion that he was inexperienced in intimacy as she was, but he decided against it. They were married now. She had accepted the facts that he had long adored another woman, that he had killed others, and that he had the face of a demon, and she had, in turn, spared him not a single truth while speaking of herself. He would prefer to continue the ability to speak with her of anything without a frightful reaction, and the answer to her question was something Erik knew he should not lie to her about.

"Yes." He told her, watching her face intently while waiting for a reaction. Not a single feature graced her face, however, and it remained as passive as it was before. "Women of the court in Persia. A few others throughout the years. . . ." He said, slowly, watching as her face remained in its current expressionless feature. Erik had to admit, he was somewhat surprised at her lack of emotion. He would have expected any other woman to become violently upset at the prospect of their husband sleeping with other woman, but he saw at once that this would not be the case. "Mostly prostitutes." He added, quietly.

"What does it. . . what does it feel like for a man?" Was Nina's next question, and he watched as she opened her eyes slightly to see the look on his face. She was greeted with the same amount of emotion portrayed over her own face, but she did not blink even slightly at his blank expression.

"It's hard to explain." He said, immediately, his gold eyes matching her curious gaze. "It's not unlike the crescendo of a symphony, growing and growing until it bursts into a fortisimo of pleasure, but, to me, I always felt as if something was missing from the experience. It felt empty, in a way." He trailed off, absentmindedly fiddling with a strand of her hair. "Fantastic, but empty."

"And," She said, her hand trailing against the surface of his lapels. "Could I make you feel that way?"

"Without the emptiness, I'm sure." He murmured, brushing his lips against her temple soothingly. "I've never shared the experience with someone I love. I'm sure it would be so much better."

"I think it would be, too." She agreed, sighing into his shirt front.

Without another word, Nina felt her hand trail down to Erik's thin waist, and his lips, as if they had both just shared an unspoken agreement, reached the surface of her neck. Feeling his breath upon her neck, she gasped softly, her eyes fluttering open to stare at the ceiling as he moved away from her to stand upon the floor beside the bed.

"I will ask you," He began, straightening his posture into an overly formal and courteous gait, his eyes glinting in the last few rays of Spring sun. "If you are entirely sure of having me as your husband. If we do not consummate the marriage, it would be incredibly easy to have it annulled. And I would take no offense."

If she had not been so flustered, Nina would have laughed. Instead, she sat up and moved further onto his bed so that her legs no longer hung off the edge. From the angle in which she sat, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her body seemed incredibly enticing to him, the bodice of her gown having become askew so that her breasts were partially exposed. Feeling an ache of desire begin to grow in his core, Erik averted his eyes from the sight and watched the floor as she spoke to him.

"You still doubt my affections, after all this time." She said, thoughtfully, following his suit and standing again so that she faced him. In silence, she raised her small hand to his face, softly caressing the portion of his features that was unmasked. With gentle fingers, she pressed her palm against his cheek before raising her other hand to his mask, carefully peeling away the ballistic material to view the marred flesh beneath. The sight, though she had viewed it dozens of times before, still seemed to surprise her, as it always did. Her fingers, still retaining their slow and careful movement, worked their way across the jagged red patches of skin stretched taut over his cheek bone and around his eye. With a sigh, he closed his mystic eyes, a rush of air leaving his lungs as he fell into her touch. Standing on the tips of her toes, she embraced him, pressing her own smooth and flawless face against his hideous one, resting her chin against his shoulder.

He had no doubts now. None at all.

"I will always love you, Erik." She murmured, stepping away from him again.

All at once, the last hints of sunlight escaped their sight and they were plunged into an eery twilight. The room seemed washed in blue as she continued to stand back from him, her eyes trying in vain to cover her still present anxiety as she reached behind her back to begin unlacing her gown. Watching him almost warily in the dark, Nina pulled her arms from the brown sleeves of the dress that had served as her wedding garment, pulling the remainder of the fabric over her hips as soon as she did so. She stood in her undergarments for several moments, her hands clenching as she watched his illuminating eyes traveled down her body. Not removing her watch from his, she began to unlace her corset and, as she did so, he reached to his collar and pulled the cravat tied expertly at his throat so that it fell away in his hands. She paused in her own undress and watched, almost in a trance, as his jacket slid from his arms and onto the floor, his hands quickly working against his waistcoat to soon discard that piece of clothing, as well.

Nina's eyes drifted shut and, when she opened them again, she viewed his entire torso unclothed. Unable to continue disrobing herself, she sat back down on the bed, curling her knees to her chest, her heart beating erratically in her body. She had expected him to be thin, and he was so, but she had not been prepared for the crisscrossing of scars carved across his skin from his chest to his back. Her eyes traveling across the evident flaws, Nina felt a prick of curiosity, but she felt that if she asked him anything concerning them, it might jeopardize the moment for them both.

And that was the last thing she wanted.

Hearing the soft rustle of clothing, Nina closed her eyes again. Her blue orbs remained hidden from him for sometime. Even when she felt him step beside her and gently moved her body into a laying position on the bed, she did not open her eyes. Even when he untied the front of her shift and she felt her chest exposed to the cool night air and to his sight, her eyes remained closed, as if she was determined to not see his reaction to her bared flesh. Only when he removed the remainder of her clothing did she open her eyes to look at him, and the look of hunger and desire in their glowing depths pleased her more than she would admit. The next thing Nina did, however, was glance down to see that he was not wearing any clothing, either.

His legs, she saw, were scarred as well, but that was not what drew Nina's attention. She had never seen a man naked before. She had seen paintings and sculptures, so she knew somewhat of what to expect of their sexes, but paintings and sculptures could not compare to what the sight enticed in her. It was the very object she had felt pressing against her body while they had kissed in times of great desire, and she felt a dull ache begin to form someplace deep within her while she made out his shape in the darkness. Remembering herself, Nina glanced up to meet Erik's eyes again and found a small, amused grin on his face, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.

"Don't be ashamed," He told her, a faint laugh escaping with his words, his eyes glinting in the darkness like a cat's. "I'm your husband. Look all you like. It's your right."

She nodded, moving on the bed so that he could lay beside her, and she did not allow herself to ignore his comment for long. With more than a hint of meekness, she reached for his member, only pausing long enough to find his eyes in the dim gloom, as if asking for permission to touch him. She received a nod and did not bother with hesitation any longer, at once feeling alarmed and amazed as she grasped his surprisingly warm shaft in her hand, listening as a small noise of pleasure emanated from her lips as she did so. Moving her fingers down the length of him, a small smile graced Nina's lips as more noises manifested themselves within his throat, smiling because she knew that she was the creator of those sensual sounds. Her eyes quickly stumbled back to his, however, when she felt his member harden within her palm and shift slightly.

"It's normal." Eik told her as soon as he saw the confused look in her eyes, his voice rough and thick with desire from her touch. "Sex is a very strange thing." He added in a hoarse murmur as she removed her hands from him, laying her back down beside him and resting one hand against her smooth waist as the other explored her breasts, his gentle touch making a pulse of anticipation begin to take place in her womanhood. "But you should know, my love, that everything you will experience tonight will be very normal. You need not be afraid of anything you feel or experience. And, if anything disturbs you, tell me and I will explain as best I can."

"Erik?" Nina whispered in the dark, making him smile at the sweetness of her voice.

"Yes?"

"I'm cold."

In the nearly nonexistent light, she saw his lips form into a small 'o' before he said, "I think I may have a remedy for that problem." Erik smiled again, moving himself into a sitting position so that he could better observe her clotheless body. "You look very beautiful," He said, his eyes traveling over the expanse of her breasts to the warm juncture between her legs, feeling himself become even more aroused as he did so. "Like a woman in an Italian man's fresco. You could easily be a goddess painted by one of the great artists."

Without another word, he pulled her into his arms, performing the so called remedy he had promised her. Feeling his member press against her skin like a hot dagger, Nina took a sharp inhale of breath as he slid his hand down to her own heat, recovering memories from the time he had done the same thing to her. She exclaimed quietly as soon as his fingers drove into her sensitive flesh, her hands gripping his lithe and tones shoulders as he did so. But this time, when he felt her warmth beginning to induce moisture at his touch, he parted her legs into a more comfortable position, feeling himself harden further as he did so. Nina, her breath quickening, felt him move on top of her so that his sex pressed against the interior of her legs, just against the thin barrier of flesh that separated his body from hers. Closing her eyes in the anticipation of the pain she knew would come, Nina nearly jumped when he placed his lips over her shoulder, his marred skin pressing against her neck. She gave, however, no shudder of disgust and no noise of protest towards the sensation, only moving her fingers to his head to run them softly through his dark hair.

"I love you, _mon Rosette_." Erik whispered to her.

"And I love you." Nina whispered back, placing a small kiss over his neck as she did so.

Enraptured by the warmth of his body pressing against hers and frustrated by the growing ache in her own body, she wrapped her arms around his back, pulling him closer to her in a wordless demand that he hastily consummate their marriage already. In less then a moment, her demands towards him was fulfilled. For Nina, it was not unlike the sensation of being stabbed, but she had no words to describe it. In fact, not even a single gasp of pain left her lips when he broke into her, though it hurt terribly, at once a great sharpness and heavy pressure. Trying her best to disregard the racking pain, she concentrated on the way he felt on the inside of her, hot, hard, and swollen against her inner walls, at once a warm and agonizing presence. He also made clear the partial hollowness of the inside her body, his body forcing her to feel him in places of her physical self that she did not even know existed, a notion which fascinated her. He filled her so completely and perfectly that she was sure that, even if he was any larger, there would be not a single inch to spare in her body for his excess flesh.

Feeling the warm and wet surroundings of her body around his own flesh, Erik found that he had to suppress a shiver of pleasure, a small exhale produced by great feeling escaping his lungs. When he first started moving within her with sensual and gentle rhythm, a motion which felt right to her but only succeeded in creating more pain, he moved his hands over her shoulders to press her into the surface of the bed. After doing this, he seemed to gain a new found motivation, thrusting into her even harder, but, to her dismay, Nina could tell at once that he was holding back from his true energies. Though she could not summon words to tell him to discontinue his dam of force, she spread her legs farther apart, finding the position to be less painful and, as soon as she did so, she felt something else begin to fight against the pain. It was the very same feeling she had experienced on a night many months before when he had touched her mesmerisingly until she had reached a state of bliss. Recognizing it, her arms encircled his neck, her nails digging into the skin of his neck with no restraint. It was a feeling of pleasure, and Nina knew she would never be able to deny to anyone that, right in that moment, he made her feel as infinite as the sky and the stars that hung in it.

As the pain began to subside, pure ecstasy taking its place within moments, her voice finally began to serenade him with a symphony of sexual sounds. Acknowledging the increasingly damp and tight feeling of her around him, Erik's thrusts began to increase their pace, his motions becoming more determined and insistent as he did so. With each thrust, she became increasingly aroused and the nails of her fingers pierced his already scarred skin, tearing into his flesh so that his blood began to seep into her palms like scarlet rain as it had before. She decided, within mere seconds, that something more important than what she was currently feeling was being born in her soul, centered in her core as their bodies met in sharp percussion. A crescendo of pleasure seemed to build in both of them, making them ache for a contentment in their apparent insatiable desire until, suddenly, their act reached a fortissimo and they could could contain themselves no longer, lust and love and ecstasy crashing over them like a symbol. With one last hint of movement, Nina felt herself contract around him as the sluice of his own desire broke forth, the warm liquid of his seed spilling into her body like a river suddenly undammed.

Without a word, Erik removed himself from her after his head cleared, laying back beside her to listen to their ragged breath in the dark. Nina, the interior of her legs smeared with her virgin blood, the muscles of her stomach and back aching, and her entire body covered in a thick layer of sweat, felt disheveled and exhausted. Though she was sure they were not done with lovemaking for the night, she closed her eyes, jumping when she felt a cloth at her womanhood, wiping away the drying blood and other fluids that coated her skin. When Erik seemed satisfied with his job, he pulled the coverlets of his bed over their bodies again, pulling her into his arms and resting her face over his shoulder.

Feeling his soft and peaceful breath at her neck, she at once decided that this was the best part of being married. Not the lovemaking, though that was a close second, but the calm and quiet moments afterwards when she could bury herself in the warm and comforting expanse of his chest.

Nina was sore, tired, and wet, but she could not be happier with her life at the moment.

And, as for Erik, he did not think of Christine once that night.


	28. Chapter 28

Behind her, Nina felt Erik tense as his grip tightened on her shoulder, not to ease her own obvious agitation but to lessen his own. Though she could not see his face as he stood behind her, she knew quite well that his anxiety must be a great deal greater than hers, as the majority of distasteful comments coming from Emily were not directed at her, but rather at him. An an angry huff escaped the older woman's mouth, Nina felt her crystalline blue eyes raise upwards, but the defensive retort already poised in her throat vanished the moment she saw the exhaustion over both Victor and Emily's faces. Nina knew now that it had been a mistake to have eloped so suddenly without the slightest hint, but as she felt Erik's grip tighten on her shoulder for a second time, she could not bring herself to feel remorseful. This was, afer all, what she had wanted for quite some time, and, though it was clear her friends did not approve greatly of the sudden marriage, Nina knew it was the best possible choice she could have made in life.

"I cannot possibly fathom why either of you would think this acceptable." Emily said, a remark synonymous to at least a dozen others, her fair hair looking limp and her blue eyes sharply boring into both of them. As Nina watched, the exhausted woman slumped into the velvet sofa opposite her before burying her pallor stricken face in her thin hands, and Nina noticed for the first time the utter tiredness of her dear friend. Victor, standing behind his own wife, muttered some quiet words of comfort and shot a sympathetic but wary glance at both Nina and Erik, though he said nothing in their defense lest he should further aggravate his already upset wife. Traces of exhaustion could also be seen in his own features, his complexion an even paler shade and dark circles plaguing the areas beneath his eyes. Somewhere in the distance of their labyrinthine home, Erik and Nina's sensitive ears detected the wailing of a baby, and Victor turned and left the room at once. To the young girl's relief, the crying soon stopped and Emily looked up at first her and then Erik.

"She is just a child, Erik." Emily began, a few new creases deepening in her forehead as she spoke, her teeth clenching with some sort of greater pain. "She is no more than ten and seven years. How could you marry a child?"

The woman's saphirical eyes looked at him pointedly, but Erik retained his seemingly devout silence. He had said nothing since initially informing his wife's friends of their elopement the previous night, and it seemed to all of them that his speechlessness would not soon be broken. Instead of looking away from her as she would have expected any other man to do, however, the man's strange eyes poured into hers unblinkingly, his gold flecked depths burning into hers like twin suns. A small groan left Emily's throat as the aberrant man before her reversed the action she had initially been trying to commence and succeeded in making her incredibly uncomfortable beneath his sight, and she found her own eyes darting away from his to avoid his sight.

The sudden irritation and dislike between the two seemed at a point where it was almost physically palpable, and Nina fought back the urge to scream or make some sort of noise to at last break their agonizing silence. Instead, she buried her fingers tightly into the fine skirts of her dress and let her chest heave painfully beneath her stays, concentrating greatly on the feeling of Erik standing close behind her in order to calm herself. She did not know exactly what was so stressful about the situation, but she could feel some sort of panic quickly rising in her as the agitation in the room continued to grow. As if he could sense her internal anxiety, however, the hand her husband placed over her shoulder loosened slightly and then pressed back into her flesh gently, a careful reminder that, for once, they were not isolated in such a situation.

"You have not even known one another for longer than six months." Emily whispered, her voice aching with a betrayed and disappointed tone as she slumped further into her seat.

"Sometimes," Nina said, her voice low and quiet, her arms crossing over her chest tightly as her long black hair fell around her face in two dark curtains. "Time does not matter."

"And what does matter, Nina? Desire?" Emily snapped, standing suddenly and pacing about the room, her eyes narrowed beneath her bent eyebrows. At her words, Nina felt her face flush in a deeply embarrassed burn as she remembered the things that had taken place last night, the noises that had been made as well as the actions that had been taken. Desire, she was sure they all knew, had a definite factor in their steadfast marriage, and she said nothing in return, favoring the silence she loathed so much in admittance to their mutual weaknesses towards the sinful flame that had engulfed them both. When the both of them refused to say anything in reply, Emily rasped towards Erik in a distraught whisper, "Victor was right. There is something wrong with you."

Nina felt the words suddenly suck something vital from the room, like a flame stealing oxygen from the air around it. She tensed, and felt Erik tense behind her, half expecting him to suddenly begin a raging fit. But, as there had often been that morning, silence prevailed as Emily stared at them both, her eyes wide and regretful.

"I will say one thing in my defense, madame, and one thing only." Erik began, his voice dangerously silky as he spoke. "I am incredibly fond of this woman." He paused momentarily, raising his other hand to Nina's shoulder and sweeping her long black hair over the other, his gloved fingers running through the silky tendrils absentmindedly as his cat's eyes glimmered into the young woman's image. "Had I married her in a month, or a year, or in ten years, there would be no difference in the amount of affection I hold for her." He paused again, and this time Nina could hear the deep exhale of a concentrated breath being released behind her, as if her husband was suddenly preparing to sing some unimaginabley difficult aria. "If, however, you continue to believe our marriage is based purely on desire, you may continue to critique me for my misuse and clouded common sense. You will say that I took advantage of a young girl, and that may be quite true. But there is nothing to be done now. I only ask that you spare my wife from the torment of your words."

"Oh," Emily began quickly, giving a small jump when her husband reentered the room from the door behind her. "Erik. . . Erik you must believe I did not mean-"

"I understand quite well what you meant." He said, curtly, his eyes flinty and sharp enough to pierce any man's soul. "Believe me, madame, there is validity in your words. I had hoped that you, the dear friends of my closest companion, would harbor the ability to look past these imperfections, but it appears I was wrong."

"Erik, you must believe me when I say I apologize, I truly-"

"There is no need for an apology." Erik said, his lips twisting into a small, unnerving smile. "I have dealt with far greater insults in my life."

"We must apologize still." Victor said, his pale face set and serious, hands folding as he contemplated the two people opposite him.

"Then we must apologize, as well." Nina said in return, tilting her chin upwards slightly to lean the back of her head against her husband's abdomen, a great deal of ill feeling leaving her when she felt the perpetually strong comfort behind her. "It would have been in all of our best interests to have told you of our imminent marriage beforehand. We simply did not do so because we were afraid of some sort of interference, and I do believe neither of us has the patience to deal with such an interference."

Victor gave a small, understanding nod and Emily buried her face in her hands for the second time that morning, though this time it seemed to be out of mere exhaustion instead of anger. When next she looked upwards, however, she gave both Erik and Nina a weary sort of smile and parted her pink lips.

"What can be done then?" Emily said, quietly, still smiling sleepily with her weary sort of smile. "You are married, then. We have two options to pursue now, one of them being completely ignoring you both for the remainder of our lives for such betrayal, and the other accepting you both and your marriage completely. And I don't think we have the heart to do anything but the latter."

With a broad grin, Nina flung herself forwards into her friend's arms, giving her a broad embrace, and Victor watched on with an equally as broad smile, his handsome blue eyes flashing with a mixture of joy and relief. Even Erik, who stood motionless where he had been for the past twenty minutes, allowed himself a small and rare smile at seeing his dear wife so pleased. Maybe, he mused to himself fanatically, these people may even be inclined to enjoy his presence as much as he enjoyed theirs.

"You know what this now means, don't you?" Victor said, as soon as the two women separated, still smiling ecstatically, his voice lilting with excitement. Nina looked up at him, her eyes inquisitive and waiting for his further explanation. Happily, the young man glanced up at Erik and then back at the young woman now seated comfortabley next to his wife before continuing. "The whole thing calls for a party! You are, after all, a young and wealthy couple. It is about time you both enter into society with one another!"

Both Emily and Victor seemed incredibly pleased at this prospect, but Nina felt her smile disappear as she looked at her husband's suddenly grave face and dwelled on a few past experiences herself. "Oh," She began, softly, giving a small, uncertain smile as she looked back at her friends. "That is a very colorful idea, but I'm afraid Erik does not enjoy parties." Feeling her heart begin to beat strangely in her chest, Nina remembered the last time she had attended the kind of party she knew Emily and Victor would have in mind. It had been in Paris, with Rousseau, some stupid festivity for some stupid occasion, and he had lured her away from the other guests into a more dark and private setting. In some spare room, they had danced slowly to the music playing somewhere in the distance. He had put his large hands on her hips, and was resting his forehead against her shoulder, and she herself had been exponentially growing more excited and more nervous. And then, as soon as the music got louder, he had backed her up against some wall and pressed his face into her neck, all without saying a word. When she heard him inhale deeply, no doubt taking in the scent of her long dark hair, Nina had been stricken with a vast sense of discomfort and had pushed him away roughly.

There was, for a fleeting moment, a vaguely mad look in his eye as he stumbled away from her, fuming internally, but the look vanished within seconds and he willingly led her back into the main room where the other guests were still communing. Nina had not thought of the instance for months, having tried to repress the memory as best as she could, but now, after having retrieved it from the depths of her compartmentalized mind, she knew now that it had been one of the first of many hints of Rousseau's madness.

Her mind playing over the scene again, she gave a small shudder which went unnoticed by all except Erik.

"But you really must have a party!" Emily said after both she and Erik continued their prolonged silence. "It's an absolute necessity. And I'm sure you will both enjoy yourselves."

"Yes, I assure you both that you will enjoy yourselves quite fastidiously." Victor said, at once, pressing his hands into his wife's shoulders and looking at Erik with a gleeful and earnest expression. "We will invite all of our friends and acquaintances. They will adore you both, of that I am positive! Think of the fun, the laughter, the music!"

At his words, Emily seemed to be sparked with a sudden and riveting idea and, from where he stood, Erik felt his graveness grow more and more immense. "You both should sing!" She shouted, her thin eyebrows raising happily as she grabbed her friends small, dark hands in her own pale ones.

"And Anshel, too!" Victor intervened.

"And Anshel, too." Emily confirmed, with a small, pleased nod.

Sparing a glance to her husband, as soon as Nina's crystalline blue eyes collided with Erik's catlike yellow ones they both knew they were trapped by her friends' already encroaching plans. Giving a small, imperceptible sigh, she gave him a little lopsided grin and a slight, apologetic and sympathetic shrug, and he rolled his eyes at her fondly, consenting to endure whatever torment her companions would put him through. From his simple physical gestures, she knew quite well what he meant and, for that, she smiled at him gratefully, standing at once to sit again in front of him, and his gloved hands returned again to her gently sloping shoulders.

"Where is Anshel, anyways?" Nina asked, interrupting Victor and Emily's excited chatter after a few minutes, her eyes flashing with curiosity.

"He usually spends the Sabbath in his room reading or writing, studying for something I'm sure," Victor supplied, immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as his lips clamped in slight uncertainty. "But he informed me he would be going out today to do some business."

As soon as the other man's words filtered into his ears, Erik had to stifle a small chortle of laughter. Before taking Nina here to inform her friends of their previous night's marriage, he had wandered to Nadir's own home to inform his only friend of the same topic. He had found the Persian considerably out of ease, preparing for, as he had said, "To go out for some business." He knew, without a doubt, that the two were most likely to be with one another. He could only wonder at the nature of their relationship, however. When it came to that, he was just as ignorant and oblivious as the rest of them. What a Jew and Muslim would do or say to one another, he was not entirely certain of.

"It is odd of him." Emily added after a few moments, her pale face turning serious. "He is usually so devoted to his studies. I can't imagine what sort of business would allow him to abandon it. He has been acting very strange lately."

Erik was tempted to laugh again and remark to them all, 'stranger that usual?' but held back the phrase, positive it would bring him only disapproval. Instead, he assumed a contemplative and serene expression before saying in a gentle tone, "Perhaps you should speak to him."

"No," Victor said with a solemn shake of the head, his lips still twisting in faint worry. "He always becomes so flustered whenever I try to speak with him alone. It almost seems like he experiences some sort of nervous fit or something similar to that." With a heavy exhale, the man fell beside his wife on the small velvet settee, taking her hand in his and setting his jaw in a squared and thoughtful line. "I really am quite concerned. He has been looking thinner than usual lately."

"Perhaps," Nina began, quietly, letting the back of her head brush against the perpendicular slope of her husband's abdomen, comforted when she felt the warmth radiating from his body. "If I may say, perhaps he would feel more comfortable talking with Erik." Pausing, she looked up at her husband by tilting her chin upwards, letting her hands drape over his. "You do seem to get along quite well." She added when he looked down at her disdainfully.

Erik was about to scoff and correct her when Emily interrupted him,saying in a gentle voice after seeing his discontented expression, "Oh, please, won't you, Erik? You do get along quite well."

Though compelled with every atom in his body to simply decline, he gave a grudging nod, his grip on Nina tightening slightly as he did so. He had to please these people, after all, if he wanted to truly make his wife happy. However humiliating and tedious a task they asked him of, he knew he would have to do it in order to appease them both and preserve their relationship with Nina, one he knew made her ineffably peaceful. Feeling a sudden wave of dread and exhaustion course through him, he merely had to look down to remind himself of the dark haired reason why he did the things he did.

"I will do so, if you truly believe his behavior requires such a task." He murmured after a few seconds, and the joyful look both Emily and Victor gave him further affirmed his growing dread.

"Thank you so much, Erik." Victor relayed, immediately. "He really does mean quite a bit to us." In response, Erik nodded, and silence reigned over the room again, though this time it was of a more peaceful nature. In the distance, the familiar cry of an infant repeated itself, and the young man got up again to tend to his child, quitting the room with a gentle step.

"You know, Erik," Emily said after a few long moments, her face softening into a supremely motherly expression. "We really are quite pleased for you both. We only wished we had gotten to know you in a deeper level before you married. And I did not at all mean what I said when there was something wrong with you."

"Erik understands." Nina said, adopting a serene and impassive look that was not too dissimilar from Erik's own countenance.

And he did.


	29. Chapter 29

To Nina, and to Erik especially, summer passed in moments, and the autumn was unusually cold. Neither one minded much, however, as they both pondered where exactly they had been one year prior. Nina had been shut up in a mad man's manor and was just beginning to recognize the signs of madness in the depraved Rousseau. And as for Erik, he had been where he had always been: lost deep in the cavernous undergrounds of the Parisian opera, only surfacing occasionally to check upon his beloved Swedish soprano or bask in the glory of her chorus dancing. A chill had taken homage in both of their souls, but as they spent the frigid fall nights and mornings wrapped within one anothers arms, the chill in their soul had gone, and the physical coldness was not noticed. They were too enraptured with one another to notice something as trivial as temperature.

To Nina, matrimony was happiness, and to Erik, matrimony was bliss.

Victor and Emily watched them both carefully, and, after the first shock of such a change in the life of a dear friend, they became accustomed to the rushed marriage, and accustomed to Erik and eccentricities. And now, as Nina and her friends planned the proposed 'coming into society' party, Erik stood in the servant's quarters. Anshel sat on the edge of his bed, slim hands clenching his knees tightly, eying Erik with a mollified sort of expression as the grave man stood and observed his surroundings disdainfully.

Erik could see the young servant's distress quite well, and though he knew it would be easier for the both of them to not do this, he had promised Victor and Emily that he would speak to Anshel about his strange behavior, and now, after several weeks, he was finally forcing himself to do so.

His surroundings were simple but held an ere of shtetl charm to the room. Plain bed covers swathed the bed, and there was no decoration save for a bookshelf swollen with ancient and important looking leather tomes and a frayed and battered leather chair set before an equally frayed and battered desk. What interested Erik most was the open Talmud lying over the desk, and the carefully folded and stored prayer shawl beside it. As he walked through the minute room, his footsteps seemed loud and menacing, and when he came to the desk he looked at the large and sacred book carefully. Skimming the massive pages, Erik's feline like eyes deciphered one sentence among the hundreds and held onto it fast.

"He who saves one man saves the world entire." He heard himself murmur, but Anshel gave him no reply. When the darkly dressed man turned, the servant was still sitting on the edge of his bed. His face was pale, his eyes cloudy, and for a moment Erik thought he might be ill. "You have been close with the Daroga lately." He said, loudly, and the boy was evidently startled and looked towards the door, seeming relieved when he saw it was closed. "I have seen you both in the shadows of his tavern, and again two thursdays ago you caught one anothers gazes while in my home with your employer."

Erik leaned against the desk, his long gloved fingers curving around the worn edges like spiders. He was very tired. He and Nina had been specially occupied with each other the night before, and then the clever mask on his face was annoying and uncomfortable. He had not been wearing it as often lately, as Nina assured him there was no need when it was just the two of them in his home, and he was not as accustomed to it as he had been before when he wore it everyday.

"You know, I am quite impressed that you have managed to garner the Daroga's attention so." Erik began when Anshel insisted on retaining his terrified silence. "He has never been one to take a particular interest in anyone, especially the kind who wear cravats and trousers."

"I do not see what I have done for you to antagonize me so." Anshel whispered, and for a moment Erik caught hint of what the servant actually sounded like. Instead of the forced alto he always seemed to assume, a quavering mezzo fell against Erik's ears, and he looked at Anshel carefully. "You find this so amusing, don't you? Yes, I see it in your eyes whenever you see me. I feel your eyes burning into me, wondering perhaps what I might look like should I dress normally. And you will tell them both soon, Victor and Emily. And then I will have no where to go."

"I will not tell them that secret you guard so preciously, Anshel." Erik said, quietly, and the young man looked up at him.

Anshl's eyelashes were long over his piercing blue eyes, no where nearly as long as Nina's, but still charming. Erik could understand the Daroga's attentions, even if they were somewhat warped, and he sighed.

"I would pay attention to your behavior presently." Erik drawled, folding his arms behind his back and stepping in front of the still worried servant. "You are beginning to arouse the suspicions of your master and mistress, and this is not healthy for someone in your position. Tread lightly, _young man. _Do not involve others in your own personal affairs."

"Yes." Anshel muttered, more to himself than to the other man. "Thank you, Sir."

Erik made to quit the room, his gloved hand wrapping around the brass door knob before he craned his neck back, looking at Anshel disdainfully. "Whatever are you thanking me for?"

"For not ruining my life when it would be so easy to do so."

"My dear boy," Erik began, smiling to himself at his small joke. "I am only returning the favor.

When Erik slipped back into the parlor, where his wife and friends sat, conversing, he stood for a long while, his arms still folded behind his back, and was silent. He was in a pensive mood, and every occupant of the room knew that it would be best to just let him pace about and think to himself. As more and more time passed, however, Nina noticed quite well that her husband's anxiety only seemed to increase, and when she at last spoke to him, he gave a small jump before looking at her, incredulously.

"You are yearning to go home." Nina said, and when he turned to look at her a small smile curved her lips. Her hands were held around a tea cup and its saucer, bent gently and carefully, and he could not help but think that she looked spectacularily mature that morning, with her hair swept into a french twist, the curled ends of her hair poking out at the top charmingly. Her dress was a deep shade of red, a color only proper for a married woman, and to him she was the most marvelous being in the world.

And she was right, of course. To anyone else he was the most cryptic ruin in the world, but Nina's violet gaze saw through him well enough.

"I would not like to interrupt anything." He said, quietly, and his politeness somewhat shocked Nina. She had expected him to simply nod, but then, he had been exceptionlly warm to her friends lately.

"Oh, nonsense." Victor said, smiling as always. "We have a family portrait to pose for quite soon, and I am sure you would be as entertained as us."

Erik managed a small, somewhat exhausted smile at this, and gave a quiet, "Yes."

When he and Nina had said their goodbyes, they stepped outside and Nina remarked to him the sudden drop of temperature in the air.

"It's positively Antarctic for autumn." She said as he helped her into the carriage and then stepped in himself. "I should have brought more than this wrap." As she spoke, Erik discovered that her lips were the exact shade of red as her dress, and he wondered how she had found a paint to match so perfectly. In silence, he looked at her lips and took off his jacket, passing it to her with a glazed over expression.

"Thank you." She whispered, taking the jacket and smiling at his dazed eyes. "You are thinking about music." She said, softly, pulling the jacket around her shoulders.

Erik again managed a small smile and whispered back, "Yes." He slipped into silence again, looking at the curves of her face and body and the red of her lips and the black of her curls. And then he spoke again, saying, "I have something to show you when we come home. Something I have been working on for sometime."

"It would be my greatest pleasure, dear one." She murmured, and he dwelled carefully over the last two syllables. She had not called him that before, but he decided that he quite liked it, and his hands reached to hold hers in the dimness of the carriage.

When they finally returned home, she set herself in the damask couch, and smiled when he sat before the piano. There was no singing this time, only music. Beautiful notes serenading her, notes which felt like cool crystals falling over her flesh, and when he changed the key quite suddenly she felt a chill run down her spine. And when it was over she had tears in her eyes and felt as if she had just witnessed something special.

"Mios Dios. . . ." She whispered, one hand holding itself to her chest as the other knotted itself in her skirts.

"You like it?" Erik said, smiling as he turned to look at her.

"It was beautiful. It is beautiful." She whispered, standing to fall in his arms, clutching herself closely to his chest.

She thought that he might whisk her upstairs to make love right at that moment, but instead he bent his lips close to her ear, and asked in his silken voice, "What should I name it?"

Nina thought for a long time, and while she was thinking Erik placed his lips over her smooth forehead, tracing his flesh against hers. "Autumn Snow." She said, finally, and he sighed at the words.

"Do you care for the snow, Nina?" He asked, gently, still holding her fast.

"As much as I care for the stars." She replied, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. He shuddered at the glorious sensation of her warm breath on his cool skin.

"Would you like me to make it snow for you?" Erik asked, his voice lilting warmly as he kissed her smooth cheek and placed his gloved hand over the back of her head, feeling the raven curls gathered there. In response, she smiled deeply, and he said, "They called me the Phantom for a reason. Not only could I traipse about undetected, but I was also known for my magic."

"Then make it snow for me, Erik."

"Your wish is my command." He said, holding her tight. "But first you must keep your eyes closed."

She did as he commanded, and, perhaps in an attempt to add to his mysteriousness, he spun her several times in a circle and muttered a few words in a language she did not recognize. And when he told her to open her eyes, she was facing the window, and it was indeed snowing outside.

"Oh. . . ." She exclaimed softly, her hand covering her red lips as she stumbled towards the window. "Oh, Erik, how. . . ?"

"I am a man of many secrets, and of many talents." He said, slyly, releasing her so that she ran out of the room, into the hallway, and out the front door.

Outside, she stood for a moment in the ground that was already turning white. Slowly, she raised her hands above her head and began to dance, twirling in a silent ballet. The sky was gray, and the snow was white, and her dress was red, and her hair was black, and while Erik watched he thought he was witnessing perhaps the most beautiful thing since the creation of man. And when she fell into his arms and threw her head back, laughing a beautiful, graceful laugh, he laughed with her, catching her lips in his as he did so.

"You are the most magical man in the world!" She shouted, spinning again with her arms above her head.

"Ah, yes, but I perform such feats for only the most beautiful creature in the world."

"Oh, I love you, you fantastic man!" Nina shouted.

"And I you." Erik whispered before capturing her lips with his for the second time. When he broke, he laughed, long and deep and happy until a high, gentle voice interrupted them.

"Angel?"

Slowly, and with a horrible feeling in his stomach, he turned, his arms wrapped around Nina, and saw two figures standing near the gate of their garden, just a few feet away from them both. Nina, at first, did not hear the soft, feminine voice, and was confused as to why Erik had suddenly become rigid. But when she turned towards where his stormy eyes were fixated, she saw quite clearly a round, pale face framed by brown curls, and brown, doe like eyes set deep into a doll's face. And when Nina turned to look at Erik, she found him equally as aghast as the girl. He was pale, speechless, and looked positively confused by what he saw before him. For a moment he appeared as if he was about to say something, but then shut his mouth and simply stared at the girl.

"Christine Daae?" Nina whispered, struck with disbelief that it was really the infamous soprano.

"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, and tears suddenly welled in her large brown eyes. "Oh, mon ange, it is you!" The girl reached out, as if to grab onto the man's arms, but he jerked away from her. Instead, her fingers closed on air, and Erik was hastily backing away from her.

"You. . . ." He whispered, his majestic voice filled with a bitterness neither girl had ever witnessed before. "You stay away from here. Can't you leave me be?"

"Ange. . . Ange, your face. . . ." The girl whimpered, pressing into the gate as if to become closer to him. "Ange, God has healed you, he has healed you at last, and now-"

"Leave me be!" He shouted, rage suddenly overtaking him, shaking his every muscle so that he was positively trembling. "Haven't you already tortured me enough?!"

Before Nina could say anything, he was almost tripping in his desire to get away from Christine Daae, and before she could move he had already disappeared within their home, the sound of th door slamming echoing across the streets. Shocked at his sudden aggressiveness, an aggressiveness she had not seen for some time, Nina turned back to the girl at the gate, who looked downright distraught. The other figure next to her, a girl with a mop of blond curls, looked nearly horrified.

"I would suggest, Madame and Mademoiselle, that you forget this address for your health and the health of others." Nina said, impassively, gathering her skirts in her hands to make her own hasty retreat from the distraught girl and her companion. She was walking away when the girl's pretty voice stopped her for the second time that night.

"That is my ring." Christine Daae said, quite loudly, her voice almost accusatory in its harshness. "You are wearing my ring."

"It is to my understanding, , that you gave it back." Nina said this, and instead of copying the other girl's harsh tone, she instead spoke calmly and clearly. Looking back, she realized that the girl was indeed older than herself, but when she looked into the doe like eyes she saw only a child looking back. A scared and confused child, who looked on the verge of tears, as if she might suddenly call in the night for a parent, stammering about monsters in the dark.

"Who are you?" The other girl, the one with blond curls, said, perhaps because she sensed that her companion very much wanted to know but did not have the nerve to ask.

"Forgive me," Nina said, coldly. "I called you . By all means, Madame De Chagny and her companion, I should like to introduce myself." Taking a deep breath, Nina took a step back and turned her to head one side, looking at the girls with one eye, much like a horse. "I am Saturnina Ward. And my husband, I believe, is someone you know as the angel of music."

"His wife. . . ." The blond haired girl murmured, clutching a fine looking cloak tightly around her neck as the snow continued to fall around them, making everything sound eerily quiet.

"And his face. . . how. . . .?"

"That, I am afraid, Madame De Chagny, is none of your concern." Nina inhaled deeply, beginning to shake from the ferocious cold. "And I do not wish to speak to either you or your companion any longer. I will only say that if you ever harm my husband ever again, I will personally wring your neck. And I will _not _see you again." The last sentence was a command and, both girls being seasoned ballet brats, they recognized an order when they heard one.

Stepping away from them both, Nina paused in front of her doorway and looked back to see both women were still staring at her, aghast. Pursing her still painted lips, her violet eyes grazed them both as she said, softly, "I apologize for any foul words or threats. But that being said, I cannot let my husband be harmed any more. I am very sorry, Madame De Chagny. Perhaps. . . one day. . . we may be friends."

With a bang, the door snapped open and Erik pulled her relatively small body inside, wrapping her possessively in his long arms. Nina stood on the very tips of her toes, and pulled his neck down so that his lips could meet hers again, and he closed the door on the perplexed faces of both Christine de Chagny and Meg Giry.


	30. Chapter 30

**Well, here it is, the 30th chapter. Now please don't hang me for the horrific delay, I know it's terrible. Three years straight of being sick with organ problems takes its toll on your motivation to write. But I'm really hoping to get this finished up by the end of summer, and I'll seriously try to have another chapter up within a month! Leave lots of helpful reviews to motivate me to write! Woo!**

**Warning, this may be riddled with typos because I'm too lazy to run this through spell check. Oops.**

* * *

><p>Kissing one another before Madame de Chagny and her companion had been a petty thing, and both Erik and Nina realized this as they broke apart. Feeling embarrassed for the way she had reacted to the situation, Nina pursed her lips and brushed past Erik, climbing the stairs by herself until she reached the room which they now shared. Hot tears began to inexplicabley bloom in her eyes, burning and stinging her violet depths painfully.<p>

Everything seemed petty now. Their entire life, her entire life, was no more than one, long, petty ordeal. The time she spent on her hair each morning, the minutes she fretted about her dresses, it was all childish. Her mother would have scolded her if she had ever seen her little Saturnina so vain.

Erik did not care for mirrors in the rooms he most occupied, but she kept one in a drawer that was part of some little Japanese cabinet, and she pulled it out to look at herself. Wiping away the paint she had applied to her face, she felt like a small, teary eyed child. She took a shaky breath as she imagined Christine, so much older, so much more mature, so easelessly beautiful. Nina was surprised at the udden influx of anger she felt deep in her soul.

Painfully bending her arms to unbutton the back of her dress, she tugged off the frivolous garment and attempted to remove her corset. When she failed out of fatigue, however, she contented herself with pulling the pins from out of her hair so that it tumbled loose down her shoulders. It was like this that Erik found her, laying on the bed they shared in her undergarments and staring at the ceiling with a blank and eary look.

When she looked at Erik, mask in place, black hair disheveled, eyes both concerned and upset, she realized the fragility of it all. She realized the fragility of their life and of their happiness, and now it all seemed to have been fractured with a terrible reminder.

"Should we leave?" She asked him, and her alto voice cracked at the effort of speaking. Erik watched in surprise as tears spilt from her eyes, seeping down her skin and into her dark, black hair. He had expected her to be shaken, perhaps angry that her life had been intruded upon, but he had not expected her to be this upset.

"And go where?" He asked her, gently, letting his cat like eyes pour over her image. Her hair was splayed around her, like when she bathed and the warm water made her skin flush and her hair floated around her head like some sort of water spirit.

She was silent for a moment, her eyebrows bending inwards with a pained look. "America?" She said, her hands clenching into the bed covers.

From across the room, he sat silently down at the piano bench, an overhwelming feeling of exhaustion flooding his body and his bones. "Something tells me that Mademoiselle Daae. . . ." He paused, catching himself. "That Madame de Chagny, would not be one to report me to the police. And neither would her little companion, Mademoiselle Giry."

Nina covered her eyes with her hands, and the room was filled with several minutes of silence as he watched her with a look she could never completely understand. When she finally removed her hands from her eyes, she sat up and gave him a hardened look.

"Forgive me, Erik," She said, her voice as rigid as her eyes. "I overreacted so completely without a thought about what you were experiencing."

He smiled a little sadly at her, and a sudden exclamation emitted itself from her throat as Nina felt a twinge in her chest. Not hesitating a moment, she made her way towards him and embraced him tightly, and he held her in such a way that she found herself seated upon his lap. his face buried in her sweet smelling neck.

"You are suffering." She whispered in his ear, tearful no longer for herself but for her husband and her own self centeredness.

"Not as much as I thought I would have, had I ever seen her again." He murmured to her, entwining his fingers in her long, raven hair. "But, seeing as I have one very beautiful woman sitting in her undergarments on my lap, I don't think I'm at much liberty to complain."

He managed to make her smile, though her eye lashes were still wet and dark from her tears. When he pulled away from the enclave of her neck, she rested her hand upon the side of his face. With nimble fingers, she slowly began to peel away at his mask until his face looked truthfully at hers. Setting the mask aside, her fingers gently brushed against the damaged flesh of his face, over the red and painful looking skin, scarred from his time in the womb.

"She believed my face had been healed." He told her, and she nodded, still entrancing him with her gentle touch.

They were silent again for a long time, and she rested her head against his chest, lulled by the sound of his gentle heartbeat. When she looked up at him again, his eyes were glassy and tired, brilliant looking in the casement of his marred face. They glistened like two diamonds amidst hideous coal, made all the while more beautiful by their surroundings.

"I wish we were still wandering those woods together, you and I." She said, quietly. "After you had lent me those clothes of yours."

"You mean while the entirety of Paris was out hunting for me and you had suffered a serious wound played on you by a mad man?" Erik said, his tone adorned by sarcasm.

"And while another mad man had inflicted upon me a different sort of wound." Nina murmured, her voice silken and entrancing as she placed a single hand on his chest. She shifted her weight on his lap so that she was putting pressure on his groin, and when she did so he grunted and coughed deeply.

"And," He coughed again, his voice thickened and husky. "And what kind of wound might that have been?"

"There were several wounds, actually." She told him, relishing in his growing arousal as his pale skin became flushed. "The wounds of intrigue and fascination. . . ." She paused, her hand trailing down his chest and down to his abdomen, making him gasp softly as she drew ever nearer to his heat. "Attraction and desire. . . ."

"Oh, yes," He began, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Those are very terrible wounds, indeed."

Disappointingly, she drew her hand away from his abdomen and removed herself from his person, seeming to be suddenly agitated by something. Picking her dress up from the floor, she folded it and tossed the elaborate garment onto the bed, moving to the wardrobe and pulling out a blue dress of a simpler cut. She slipped it on over her head and spoke to him as she buttoned up the back.

"Maybe we should go out, just for a few hours." She said, gathering her hair into a bun and drawing the curtains from the window to look outside momentarily. "Perhaps we can call on Nadir?"

Though Erik would have preferred to stay in the secluded enclave of their home, alone, he knew Nina would be too anxious to stay there for the time being, or at least for the night, and he could perfectly understand why. Though Erik knew Christine to be harmless, he also knew that if her husband caught word of his whereabouts the police would be there within moments. And so he nodded, taking a moment to smooth his hair and straighten his clothing before following Nina down the stairs.

Pausing before the doorway, he watched as she grabbed one of her lace mantillas, wrapping it tightly about her head before stepping into the chill evening. Looping his arm through hers, Erik hailed a taxi as they neared the street, and she clutched his arm tightly as she stepped into the carriage.

Though initially disturbed by the sight of Christine here, so close to his home, so intrusive upon his new life, Nina seemed more shaken by her appearance. She was unnaturally still as he sat across from her, her eyes lost in thought, her entire body unmoving.

After Erik had given the driver the address, he reached across the way and took one of her hands in his, making her jump. Without a word he kneaded her palm gently, but when she glanced down at her small hand in his she seemed to become even more agitated.

"What is it?" He asked her, his pale face set like clay in the hot sun.

"In comparison to her I feel like no more than a child." She murmured, looking way from him and instead at the little window beside her.

Erik parted his lips as if to say something, and then closed them again as an after thought. Rubbing his temple for a moment before giving an exhausted sigh. It seemed to him that he felt immensely old at the moment, as if he had lived a thousand years and suffered a thousand tribulations.

"The girl is only two years your elder." He said to her, leaning back in the seat of the chaise and inhaling deeply. "And besides, my dear, whereas she might have the body of a slightly older woman, you may content yourself with the knowledge that your mind surpasses hers in maturity."

"You believe so?" She asked him quietly, her almond eyes peering at him strangely.

Erik nodded sincerely. Christine was, by far, the wiser of the chorus girls at the Opera Populaire. She had never been one to gossip, never one to engage in frivolous activity. But whether she was this way through her own individuality or tended towards her ways because of his own influence, Erik did not know. However, he did know Saturnina to be a woman with a quick and clever tongue, and she had certainly not learned that from him. She had been touched with the gift of intelligence long before they had met.

"And you do not think I am too young to be your wife?" Nina said, her fingers fiddling with the black lace on the hem of her sleeve.

"And you do not think I am too old to be your husband?" He countered her, and Nina silenced herself on the topic. They both knew it would be the last they would speak of the situation of their age gap.

When the chaise lurched to a stop, Erik handed Nina out, his grip lingering on her hand in a comforting way, and she clenched back.

Nadir lived in a little Georgian style home, squeezed together with many others of its kind in a charming sort of way. There was a bit of a stoop leading to the door, and Nina stood behind him in the cool. The snow from the previous few hours had melted, the stone slick beneath her boots, and Nina grabbed Erik's arm tightly in fear of falling.

She had never before been to Nadir's home, as he was really Erik's friend and he preferred not to make house calls. As her husband knocked upon the door, she imagined a whimsical hall filled with Persian rugs and a parlour filled with exotic furnitures and decor, the strange and hypnotic smell of incense clinging to the entire place.

After several minutes, the door was opened, and a surprsingly nervous Nadir stood in the doorway. His dark curls were ruffled in a haphazard way, as if he had just awoken, and his jade eyes were hazy and agitated. His clothing was in disarray as well, the top few buttons of his waist coast undone and his house jacket wrinkled.

"Good afternoon, my friends," He said in a hushed tone. "I see you have decided to pay me a visit, but I am already entertaining and I am not sure if you would enjoy the present company."

"Please, Daroga, I don't give a damn if that Jew is here." Erik said, annoyedly brushing past the Persian in the doorway and into the hall. A moment of panic filled Nadir's eyes before he followed his friend into the hall of his home, and, still standing on the stoop and unsure of what to do, Nina followed them both in, closing the door behind her.

She heard Erik's voice chattering away down the hall, explaining all that had happened, and she heard some interjection of Nadir's she did not pay much attention to. Taking a moment to gather in her surroundings, she was not disappointed in the finely woven rugs beneath her foots, nor in the lovely scent of the home, though there were no paintings or ornamentations upon the walls.

Wandering down the hall, she was not genuinley curious in whoever Nadir's visitors were until something unnerving came over her. She noticed, with some anxieties, that the previous words of her husband that had filled the home just moments before had been silenced, and the entire place seemed unearthly still.

"Erik?" She called, her boots making clattering noises upon the wooden floors as she walked through the door in which both husband and friend had disappeared into. Pushing open the door, Nina walked into the tense scene of her husband staring, much like an animal about to be shot, into the eyes of an aged woman sitting on a little settee.

The woman was quite calm, sipping a cup of tea in deep relaxation, though her hair was gathered in a severe gray bun a top her head and her corset was so tight Nina could not fathom how she could bare to breathe.

As Nina slid the lace mantilla from her head, the woman looked at her with a haughty sort of look, setting her cup upon its saucer.

"I must say," The woman said in a French so refined Nina had to strain her mind to understand it. "I never thought I would see the likes of you again, Erik, unless it was strung up in a noose."

"What is your business here, Giry?" He demanded of her in a very rude manner, and Nina eyed him inquisitively. She had not, before the encounter of Christine and now this woman, never heard him speak in such a ay to anyone, little lone a lady.

"I am here with my daughter and her companion, as well as her husband." The woman, Giry, said to him, assuming a serious and composed look as she smoothed out her black, satin skirts. "It was my plan that by coming I would limit their exposure to you."

"It would apear," Erik said to the woman, folding his arms behind his back. "That your plans have failed, as I have already seen Madame de Chagny and Mademoiselle Giry, _as they were pacing before my address_." He spat the last part like a viper striking,his beautiful voice marred by anger, and Nina exchanged a perturbed look with Nadir.

For a moment, Madame Giry looked alarmed, but she calmed herself, taking another sip of her tea and taking a deep breath. "I knew I should not have let them walk about on the street."

As the woman set her cup upon its saucer again, she peered closely at Erik's face, and the room was made considerabley uncomfortable. Nadir was shuffling about in the corner, checking his pocket watch and still looking nervous. He was watching Erik as closely as someone observing a dangerous animal.

"I see you have made yourself a new mask." She said, looking upon him coolly. "It conceals your ugliness well." Nina opened herself to say something in arguement, but the woman spoke over her as she began to formulate words. "You know, Erik, I once believed only your exterior showed your fault. But now I know that you are damaged both inside and out."

"I would prefer you not to say such things in my company, Madame." Nina said, quietly, clutching the mantilla in her hands loosely, her face pale in the dim light of the room.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but I do not believe we are yet acquainted." Giry said to her, pursing her lips into a thin line. "But it would not be like Erik to have the manners to introduce us, now would it?"

"Madame," Nadir spoke up for the first time after having receded into the corner. "This is Saturnina Ward."

"I must tell you, Mademoiselle Ward, that you are keeping very poor company by subjecting yourself to this man's madness."

"Forgive me, Madame," Nina began with a smile, seating herself in the plush settee opposite the woman so that Erik stood beside her. "But I am afraid you adress me incorrectly. I am a Mademoiselle no longer, I must inform you, as you seem so well acquainted with my husband."

Giry was silent for a good while, and an array of emotions passed through her eyes. Anger, confliction, anxiety, fear, concern, and then anger again, all passing within seconds of each other. Finally, she spoke, but it was not to Nina that her words were directed.

"I hoped, Erik, that you would learn from your first experience with women and never involve yourself with them. And after your experience with Madame de Chagny I was sure you would sever all contact with those of the female race." She paused, and to herself Nina wondered what Madame Giry meant by Erik's first experience with women. "But you have disappointed me again, as you have never failed to do."

"The relationship between my wife and I does not need your approval, Giry." Erik said to her, smoothing back his hair. "Or have you forgotten that I am not one of your ballet brats for you to dictate?"

"You are not stable enough for a relationship." Giry spat back at him, scowling a deep and terrible scowl that would make any dancer tremble in anguish. "Or have _you _forgotten your involvement with Miss Lefevre? She, too, is here, you know, probably locked away in some dark room after her misfortunes involving you."

"You will not speak that name in my presence, Madame." Erik hissed, growing more and more agitated as Nina watched the spectacle unfolding before her.

Madame Giry gave them both a stern and cold look. "I think it would be best, Erik, if you take yourself and your wife and remove yourself from my company."

"Gladly." Erik acquiesced, pulling Nina to her feet roughly. He quit the room, leaving her there with Nadir and Giry in an awkward situation. Not knowing what to do, she dipped her head to the aged woman and whispered a word of apology to Nadir, who nodded in turn at her.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear," The woman said in a surprisingly pleasant tone as Nina turned to leave the room. "But I pity you for your involvement with that devil. He will lead you to nothing but misery, if not worse."

"Perhaps, Madame Giry." Nina said to her with a smile. "And perhaps I am to be pitied. But aren't we all?"


	31. Chapter 31

**This is a short chapter, but hey look I updated before the usual seventh month mark right at least that's good. Well, anyways, I'm not a big fan of this chapter. It's mostly just a transition from the last one into the next, so kind of uneventful but still (hopefully?) interesting. I only got one review last chapter... I understand. I deserve punishment for that seven month hiatus. But maybe more this time? Please? PPLEasE? We're almost wrapped up here. Only a few more chapters left, and we'll all be free...**

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><p>Erik had taken Nina to the opera several times during their stay in London, but he had begun to dislike the English actors, stating they were better for Shakespeare than for Mozart. He no longer cared to go, but Nina had a strange fascination with the stage, and because of that Victor and Emily escorted her to the opera. She had, however, decided against telling Erik she was going to see a performance in which Madame de Chagny was singing in. She believed it would upset him, and so only told him she would be spending the late evening with Emily and her child.<p>

Christine was truly unearthly, in both her performance and her appearance. But to see the famous soprano who had so devastated her husband previously was not her only motivation for coming. Nina also wanted to spy upon the woman's husband, the Viscount, and he was indeed present at the performance, sitting in a box not far away from Victor's.

Nina watched him carefully through her opera glasses, the young and certainly handsome man. He was as enraptured as any other man in the room, and his eyes glistened with a possessive pride and a delicate fascination. When the performance was over, and the actors and actresses made their procession, Nina made sure to eye the young man in the box across from her. He did not clap, but only stared intently upon the vision of his wife on the stage below him, and Nina could see in his focused eyes that he loved her dearly.

"That's the Viscount de Chagny." Emily said to her, not knowing the pre-existing relationship between Erik and Nina and Christine and Raoul. "Husband of Christine de Chagny. They are visiting from Pairs, I believe, in preparation for her European tour."

Nina nodded and acquiesced that the Viscount seemed very attentive of his wife, but the term European tour bothered her slightly. Here was this woman, scarcely older than herself and with a similar background of parentlessness, married to a Viscount and in preparation to visit all the great opera houses of Europe. And here was Nina, living in a little house in suburban London, doing nothing but sitting around each day listening to her husband's music and fretting about the furniture.

Nina felt slightly pathetic in comparison to the beautiful and rapturous Christine, but she decided not to dwell on the thought. Whatever God had planned would be played out, just as the night's traffic of the stage had been.

While gathering herself along with Emily, Nina felt something strange wash over her, the unnerving feeling of being watched. She turned, paranoid that the Viscount had noticed her attention towards him, but he had vanished from his box. The feeling, however, persisted, and she did not truly feel comfortable until she was safely shut in the carriage with Emily beside her and Victor smiling across.

As Emily and Victor discussed the opera, bantering over oboe and libretto, Nina began to think about the events of last week, and Erik's meeting with both Madame de Chagny and Madame Giry.

After meeting the latter in Nadir's house, they had both gone home for the night, exhausted. They had both been restless and, though Erik had gone to sleep after some hours of trying, Nina still remained awake, thinking to herself in the darkness and listening to her husband's breath.

He had elaborated slightly after they had gotten home. Madame Giry, he told her, had once assisted him in life and was the woman who had drawn him into the catacombs of the opera where he had lived so peacefully so long. However, when she asked who Miss Lefevre was, and what the Madame had meant by his first experience with women, he would give her no answer. He merely told her that he had promised, long ago, to remain in silence about it. To herself, she suspected it was too painful to talk about.

"Nina," Emily's voice roused her from her thoughts, and Nina's violet eyes flitted up to her friend. "You've forgotten your opera glasses, haven't you?"

Nina looked down at her lap and found that she had indeed left them behind in the box. "It appears I have. No bother, however, I'm sure another lady will get good use from them."

They fell into silence for a moment, and when Nina glanced at Victor sitting across from her, smiling pleasantly at his wife, something occurred to her.

"Victor, do you know of any family by the name of Lefevre?" She asked him, unconsciously clenching the skirts of her dress in her gloved hands hard enough to wrinkle the taffeta.

Victor seemed to ponder the name for a moment, before clearing his throat and saying to her, "I believe there is an older gentleman and his wife by that name of higher class, but I do not think they have any children or other living relatives."

"I see." Nina said, and when Emily and Victor looked at her in hopes she would elaborate, she added in an inconspicuous, "I only heard the name passed in the opera house, and I was simply curious."

Emily nodded and smiled gently. "Our little party for you and Erik is quickly approaching." She said, quaintly, brushing a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Soon you will be the two being discussed throughout the opera houses."

Nina smiled sheepishly. "I should hope not," She said, her lips still smiling but her eyes nervous with anxiety. "Erik loathes attention when he doesn't seek it himself." To herself Nina also thought of the privacy both she and Erik so desperately needed, him to leave the Phantom of his past behind and her to leave the phantom of Rousseau behind.

"What do you mean?" Victor asked, folding his hands in his lap quaintly.

Nina paused, considering her response. "Erik will gladly perform any sonata in front of a crowd," She began, giving a little sigh. "And he'll gladly revel in the praise he will receive. But if someone else shined a light upon him he will immediately despise all eyes turned to his direction."

"You have certainly chosen an odd man to make your life with, I will admit." Victor said, glancing out of the little window to his right, though it was well past night and neither of them could hope to glimpse a thing. "A music man who would not even go to the opera."

Nina smiled, this time genuinely. "Erik says he doesn't care for the English opera. I believe he said something along the lines of us 'Limies sticking to our Hamlet and abandoning Bizet to the French'."

Emily laughed, clutching Nina's arm as she did so, and Victor smiled at the sight of his wife so happy with her friend. Her previously evident anxiety regarding the upcoming party hosted by himself and his wife seemed to have been erased in Nina, and she no longer seemed tense or worried, though Victor worried for her. He had witnessed several of Erik's outbursts, though he knew the man worked hard to contain them, and though he and his wife may tolerate such episodes of surliness and inexplicable frenetic actions, Victor knew quite well that others would not. If something were to upset Erik into a mere state of sarcasm, or even worse an episode of distress, Nina's reputation would be ruined along with her supposedly mad husband.

"Three more days." He said, more to himself than to his wife and her companion.

"Three more days." Emily said with a short nod. "The tailor has finished with your dress?"

Nina nodded. Erik, upon hearing that he would absolutely be forced to attend such an occasion, had at once went to lengths to ensure they both would look only their finest. If Erik had any flaw besides his infrequent madness and bouts of jealousy, it would certainly be his vanity, in which she was now included as part of now that she was his wife. Just the other day while alone in their home he declared the dress she was wearing as unsuitable and demanded she take it off. Nina, with a sly smile, had complied at once, slipping off the garment in front of him so that his unmarred cheek blushed faintly.

Erik's sexual advances were never a case of humility for him, but if Nina was the one to initiate any sort of sexual contact it was cause for embarrassment. Nina, after some contemplating, came to the conclusion that it had to do with the complex associated with his face. He knew his sexual desires, had known them since his teenage years, no doubt, and he knew what he was capable of sexually. But for a woman to touch him, to _want _to touch him, that was something unfathomable and nonexistent, at least with his cursed face. To feel a woman's desire felt infinitely abnormal, and therefore mortifying, however much he enjoyed it.

She would, Nina had hoped to herself, eventually alter his view on this. She far preferred a haughty and quiet Erik over a timid and stammering one. It made for much better romance. She had, after all, not married a boy of ten and four years old.

"Are you excited?" Victor asked her, rousing her from her sexual thoughts, a faint blush illuminating her own face.

"Yes," She replied, almost breathlessly. "Very."

"Look at this, my dear husband," Emily began, puffing her chest out like an overly regal swan. "She's flushing, no doubt a sign that she is thinking of her dear love." She said, her tone purposefully exaggerated with long vowels.

Nina didn't say anything further, only crossing her arms and shaking her head to herself, amused and slightly bashful. Why loving someone was something to be embarrassed about, however, she would never know.

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><p>He was flipping the opera glasses from hand to hand, letting his bare skin brush against the material that had touched her face. He had watched her closely all night in the guise of being entertained by the petty performance on stage, sitting in a far away and shadowed box so as not to alert her of his presence.<p>

And there she had been, so very close to him for the first time in so very long. If he had wanted he could have prowled into the darkened halls while that Swedish Soprano was singing her arias and made his way into the box. She could have been in his grasp, once again, with only those two friends of theirs to be concerned about. But that would be a bad idea, as he had quickly seen, eyeing the Viscount de Chagny. The man had two police officers with him in his box, no doubt as protection for the supposed phantom that haunted him and his wife. There was, no doubt, others around the place, as well, preciously guarding that boring creature on stage.

It would be a bad idea to reclaim her now. Not there, at least, where she might become hysteric at his presence after being separated from his for so very long. He had to touch her, however, at least once, so he had traipsed into the darkened halls and into the box he knew to be occupied by her, being careful to be as light as possible on his feet so that no one would suspect his appearance here. With a gentle hand, he lightly stroked her hair, soft enough that she would not sense him but still ensuring he could feel the silken strands beneath his outstretched fingertips.

He had clung near to the box for the rest of the night, bored by the show and enraptured by the Spanish beauty so close and yet so far from him. When she and her companions had left, he wistfully watched her walk away, wanting to follow but knowing he shouldn't, at least not in the lighted corridors. Instead, he sat in the seat next to the one she had occupied, closing his eyes and dreaming her presence.

The opera glasses she had been using all night had been abandoned, left upon the plush chair for anyone to claim, and so he took them, swinging the glasses back and forth on their hinges, and he had continued to do so since he had returned to his London apartment.

Sitting before the fire with his feet upon a coffee table, he watched the flame glow in the reflection from the glasses, enjoyed the warmth they absorbed from the source of heat.

There was a knock upon the door, and one of his servants entered the room, carrying the tray of sherry and cigar which he always demanded at this late hour.

"Did you enjoy the opera, Master Rousseau?" The man asked, setting the tray on the table next to him and lighting a match as his employer picked up the cigar between his fingers.

Once lit, Rousseau inhaled the cigar deeply, letting smoke escape his lungs like a devil harboring fire in its chest.

"I did."


	32. Chapter 32

**Ah, yes, here it is. The beginning of the end. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Please tell me what you think.**

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><p>"Quit fidgeting." Erik whispered to her, clutching her gloved arm a little too tightly. "You'll make people nervous. Or worse, make <em>me <em>more nervous than I already am."

Being in a crowded room filled with people they did not know was not easy on either of them, but Nina rumpled her nose, thinking to herself that she'd like to see Erik wearing a painfully tight corset in an overly heated room surrounded by complete strangers.

Her dress was of a simple cut, unpopular for the women of the age, but it flattered her, especially the color. Deep crimson seemed to make the raven of her hair glow and the violet of her eyes stand out like vivid stones in a river, and, Erik might add, it pleased him aesthetically. It was a color only proper for a married woman to adorn her body with, and he only hoped that his presence further complimented her beautiful appearance. Certainly the guests of Victor and Emily's gathering, arranged in their honor, had paid far more attention to her than they had to him, much to his approval. She was a ruby to be displayed and adored, and he was merely her polisher and guardian.

Several women, all of Emily's friends who Nina had met before on several occasions, were speaking with her about things not of interesting topic to him, and so Erik's eyes wandered around the room. The frivolity of the upper classes would never fail to amuse him, he swore, as his eyes slipped over many older women trying to squeeze into the fashions of young women, trying to force themselves into youth. And the men, if not the same, were somewhat worse, with their flamboyant cravats and their increasingly conspicuous consumption. If Erik had not wanted to seem odd, he would have shaken his head at triviality of it all.

A particular man made eye contact with him, however, and Erik found himself drawn to the man's dark stare as he lingered in the doorway leading to the balcony. He looked like any ordinary man, perhaps on the slimmer, paler side, but what drew Erik's gaze to him was the look in his eyes. It was a look of unfeeling, or perhaps of extreme hatred, he could not tell. Erik only recognized it as the thing he had seen every time he had looked into the water that surrounded him beneath the opera, the thing that had lain deep in his eyes and which was now dormant.

The man unnerved him like no human could do, and, after looking away for a moment, Erik turned to stare back at the man and found him vanished. The gilded maroon of his waist coat and the dark floss of his hair still remained etched in his eyes, and something within Erik suddenly felt defensive.

"Excuse me, sir, but I do believe you have a rather odd shadow, just there." One of Nina's companions said to him, brushing one of her lace bathed fingers on her cheek to indicate where she was speaking. Erik touched the place and realized what she was speaking of, feeling a spot where his mask had begun to peel away from his skin slightly.

"It is no more than a scar from my youth, I assure you, Mademoiselle." He said with a smile, and Nina was somewhat impressed by the smoothness of his lies. It calmed her slightly to hear his voice so gentle and assuring, and her anxieties lessened. "An accident involving a fishing hook and my brother on the shores of Calais, I'm afraid."

"Oh, do tell us of your brother, sir." Said another one of the women, and several of the eligible ones acquiesced their agreements. The sentiment pleased Erik slightly. If these marriable woman wanted to know of his fictional brother, then they would have had to approve of him first.

"He has sadly gone on to the kingdom of our lord." Erik said, gently disappointing the four or five ladies surrounding him. Better to end the life of a man who never existed than entice those who might wish to one day meet him. "An illness when he was quite young."

All of the women remarked their sorrows, and then quickly changed the subject. Typical, Erik thought, that these happy young people would never want to dwell on anything not happy or young. Excusing himself momentarily from the gathering, he left to adjust his mask somewhere private so no other people would notice his 'scar'. Nina, too, excused herself to get some fresh air for her constrained lungs, and weaved herself through the crowd, the crystal stem of a wine glass in her hand as she swirled the red liquid around and around to calm herself.

Nina could not name it, but something did not feel right here. A formidable feeling of foreboding and danger was slowly enveloping her, and she felt suddenly as she stepped onto the balcony and into the cool night air that it was a mistake to leave the safety of her husband and her companions' sides. Nina, uncertain of whether or not to proceed onto the empty balcony, looked back to see if she could see either Victor or Emily, but she could not spy either of them in the crowd. They were probably too busy trying to entertain the masses, and Nina gave a soft sigh as she stepped into the chill night.

There was a fountain on the balcony with still waters, and Nina sat onto the cool white stone encasing the starry liquid. The lights from within the home sat spangled over the surface of the water in arrays of bright light. Pulling one of her gloves off, her fingers reached out to touch the light dancing gently on the cool water.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Said an unearthly voice behind her, and Nina's entire body froze. Her stomach sank, and blood seemed to cease its current through her body. Clutching the stone of the fountain beneath her palms, she looked into the water to see Rousseau standing behind her, suave and smiling, his eyes filled with a dire and dangerous madness. He was a wolf who had stumbled upon his easy prey.

Trepidation seized her, and Nina would have screamed had he not promptly clamped one of his hands over her mouth. Wrapping his arms around her midsection, he pressed his body into hers hard enough to horrify her. His elbow jabbed into her rib cage painfully as he locked her into an unbreakable vice grip which she knew she would not be able to escape. Like a fly in a spider's web, she had been caught, and Nina knew that struggling would only make the situation worse. She would have to remain calm until her mind could think of a proper resolution.

"Such a lovely party Victor and Emily have made, but I'm afraid I find the reason it was arranged to be rather disagreeable." Rousseau was by no means an exceptionally strong man, and he wheezed with the effort to contain a struggling Nina in his arms. "You've upset me, Saturnina. You've betrayed me by marrying another man. I'll have to punish you when we return home." She could feel him bury his face in her hair, could hear him inhaling deeply. "And such lovely punishments they'll be, too. I want to see your pretty little face contort in absolute _agony, _Saturnina."

Nina managed to bite the hand that held her captive, but Rousseau was pressing one of his arms far too deeply into her abdomen for her to even try to scream. Instead she could only inhale and exhale shakily, cursing under her breath like any daughter of a scullery maid.

"And just how. . ." She began, pausing to gasp. "Are you going to get me to leave here. . . willingly?"

Rousseau laughed quietly to himself as he nursed his hand, still struggling to contain her in his grip. "Don't think I don't know exactly who your husband is." He said to her, snakelike, and Nina felt herself go limp with panic. "Or should I say, _what _he is."

Nina tried to say something, but ended up just coughing as she struggled to control her breathing. Her lungs burned as her body forced her to hyperventilate, and she suddenly understood the terrible concept of not being able to breathe.

"Now I know that you must care for that. . . thing. I've seen the way you look at him. So I'll make a pretty deal for your pretty face." Rousseau muttered to her, one of his hands clamping down on her waist painfully as he began to try to drag her away from the side of the fountain.

Nina continued to stay still in his arms, praying that any moment someone would walk onto the balcony and see her state of distress. But then, Rousseau would simply inform the police about Erik, and who knows what would happen then. He would probably be handed over to the French authority, and Rousseau would receive no punishment for his crimes against womankind in light of the capture of the murderous Phantom.

"You can come with me, peacefully, and we'll live a happy little lovely life, and that freak can continue to live his days in freedom." Rousseau whispered in her ear, and she felt him withdraw something from within his waist coat. "Or, I can cut off your pretty head and tell the authorities that the mad _fantome _did it to the woman he forced to marry him." He pressed a blade against her throat, true to his promise of decapitation.

Nina felt something within her collapse. She thought for a moment that perhaps he had fractured one of her ribs, but then she realized it was not something physical, but rather emotional. There would be no other option. For Erik, she would have to go with Rousseau. She only shivered upon thinking of the punishments Rousseau would have waiting for her.

"I'm waiting for your decision." Rousseau hissed through clenched teeth, pressing the blade into her neck a little further. A stinging whispered its way across the skin of her neck, and she could feel blood beginning to slip down her flesh.

She could see his reflection clearly in the still water. Pale and handsome and young, but marred with a despicable and revolting anger that twisted and contorted his features enough to make him look less than human. His usually smooth hair had been disheveled in the process of containing her, and his white teeth were clenched in anger, stretching out his lips in an ugly grimace. He was, possibly, the most disgusting man she had ever seen, and which she swore she would ever see. He was more vile than the body snatchers who would claim the victims of disease and poverty lying about in the streets to sell their corpses to doctors and universities.

Looking into his face, Nine knew there would be no escaping this one.

"I'll. . . ." Nina began, and her voice cracked with despair. "I'll go with you."

Rousseau was beginning to say something, but Nina was not listening. Her vision was going dark for some inexplicable reason, and then she felt Rousseau being pulled away from her. All she could see was a fist making direct contact with his face, over and over again, and then her mind seemed to transcend the concept of time, skipping either seconds or whole minutes she could not tell, and she saw a pair of hands holding the vile man by his shoulders, forcing his head beneath the water. She could feel his body thrashing about, clinging feebly to his petty life, and then all around her everything was eerily still. Someone was pulling her away from the side of the fountain, trying to speak to her, but blood was pounding in her ears like a terrible drum, deafening everything around her into one dull throb.

It was Erik holding her. He had come just in the right moment, and seeing his face suddenly flooded Nina with sense again and she could see and feel things normally. What she saw around her was like a scene from a nightmare, or perhaps a Shakespearian tragedy.

Rousseau was laying in the fountain, face up, his ghostly blue eyes open and unblinking. She did not have to look long to know that he was dead. She herself was soaked, from head to toe, in the water from the fountain, and there was blood on her hands, both gloved and ungloved, though whose it was she could not tell. Nina looked at Erik, wanting to collapse in his arms and sob, but when her eyes found him in the light cast from the doorway, she knew something was not right.

Erik was as wet as her, his entire front drenched in water. His hair was splayed about his face, and he was pressing a single hand over one side of his face. His eyes shimmered with what looked like panic, but she did not know what he was so afraid of. The threat had been resolved, the ghosts of her past were finally dead.

People were beginning to gather on the balcony, drawn to the commotion. Nina suddenly remembered a deafening screaming, and something told her it was neither hers or Erik's, but rather Rousseau as someone held him beneath the water. She knew, at once, that that scream would never cease to exist within her memory.

Someone first noticed the drowned corpse floating in the water of the fountain, and a woman's shreik filled the air, stinging Nina's ears thrice that night. She clutched Erik's arm and watched as Victor and Emily rushed through the gathering crowd, eyes first confused and innocent of knowledge. and then wide and in shock at the gruesome scene before them.

She watched as they took in the sight of the body in the fountain, and Nina thought for a moment that Emily might faint from the sight, but it was instead something else that stole the woman's consciousness. She glanced at Erik and screamed before falling back into her husband's arms, and Nina turned to see her husband in time to see his water ruined mask fall away from his face.


	33. Chapter 33

Everything had flown by in mere moments. The police, it seemed, were there within seconds, and everything was thereafter chaotic as the party guests flooded forth from the great doors of the manor house, disturbed and disconcerted. Erik had taken out his handkerchief to hold over his face, as if staunching the blood of some terrible wound, though the lack of blood made that obviously untrue.

Emily, distraught, had been sent upstairs with her maid to care for her, perhaps to occupy her mind with the baby. Victor was still on the balcony, overseeing the covering of the gruesome, drenched corpse, and its quick removal from his property. And then there was the task of speaking with the police, of explaining what had happened, and Nina and Erik, as equally soaked through as the corpse, were set before a private fire with their host, presented by two grim men of the London arms.

Both of the men, it was apparent, were somewhat offended by the sight of Erik's face, and so he kept the handkerchief and his hand over the said monstrosity while his wife shivered from both fear and cold.

Before the questioning was begun, Victor entered the room, the affairs of the outside apparently dealt with. He sat beside them so that Nina was wedged in between him and Erik, and she suddenly felt very safe.

After settling down opposite the three of them in an old plush arm chair, one of the men, a russet haired fellow with a curled mustache that put any regiment officer to shame, took a little notebook from within his great coat and placed a little bottle of ink on the table beside him. It seemed he was ready to hear all that had happened.

"I do believe I am in for quite a story." Said the man, quietly, while the other shifted uncomfortably behind him, now and again peering at Erik, still hidden behind his handkerchief.

They were all silent, and then Nina realized that the man sitting opposite her was waiting for one of them to speak. However, neither Victor nor Erik knew the beginning of the dreadful tale awaiting the two policemen, and so she looked at her hands folded in her lap and began.

"I was feeling faint, so I went to the balcony to breathe some cool air." Nina said, quietly, her eyes inexplicably filling with childish tears. She felt like a child caught doing some forbidden act, and now she was to be scolded and beaten for her wrong doings. "I sat on the lip of the fountain, and then he was there and-"

"Who was there?" The russet haired man asked, twitching his moustache and writing something down on his little notebook.

"Rousseau." She said, and when the man across from her looked blank she added, "The man who drowned in the fountain."

"Then you knew this man? Rousseau, you said he was?" Nina nodded, and the man asked her how to spell the name, which she softly told him, her voice straining more and more with each letter. "How did you know him, Miss?" He asked her, looking too deeply into her eyes for comfort.

Nina didn't know how to answer the question. She knew she ought to tell the truth, but the truth seemed so complicated, and it made her out to look so dim and naïve. Silently, she begged to wake up from some horrible dream, but there was no dream to be waken from.

"Miss?" The officer repeated, a little more firmly the second time.

"He was an acquaintance of ours, from some years ago." Victor murmured, his eyes misty and far away. "He became fond of her. I had hoped once that they would marry."

"Yes," Nina whispered in affirmation. "He took me to France, to where he lived in Paris. I thought we would be married, as well."

"But you were not married." The officer behind the sitting one said, almost gently. There was a thick scar running from his ear to his nostril, and Nina found her eye pondering over it. How strange a scar it was. "Why were you not married?" He asked her, the moment his eye caught hers.

"At first I thought him to be a fine gentleman. A man of a gentile disposition." Nina inhaled deeply, suddenly straightening her posture and looking directly into the questioning men's' eyes. "But he made advances which were not welcome, and I realized he was mad."

"What made you think him to be mad?" Asked the russet haired man, leaning forward slightly in his chair. Nina again found herself drawn to the scar on the other officer's face. It seemed illuminated in the light of the fire, flickering this way and that like a little river carved into his flesh.

"At first I only noticed small things." She begin, still staring at the man's scar as if looking at a creature in a zoo. "He would stare at nothing like a hallucinating person would. And he would whisper to himself on occasions." She took another deep inhale, sitting even more rigidly. "He beat his hounds to death, and came close to doing so with several of his servants."

Nina paused, and Erik looked closely at her face in the fading firelight. Her expression suddenly seemed hardened, no emotion left within its silhouette, no suggestion of feeling anywhere within the depths of her eyes.

"And then he attempted to rape me."

Victor became limp beside her. Erik, on her other side, became rigid. It was one thing she had never told him, and which she had never spoken aloud of. But she knew it would be important information for the two officers now looking sheepishly away from her. They could speak of murder and other foul things, she was sure, but rape was beyond their borders. It was something far worse.

"When I would not comply he. . . stabbed me." She said, as if in a dream. "Just here." She added, her hand trailing to her abdomen where her life had once spilt from her body in a sickly red mess.

"She came to me then, in the early hours of the morning, dying from her wound." Erik said, gently. "I feared to call for a surgeon lest the man have made alerted anyone and offered a reward and so I dressed the wound myself."

"And may I inquire who you are?" The seated officer asked of him, flipping his little notebook to a fresh page, his watery blue eyes avoiding Erik's face by staring intently at the paper in his hand.

"I am Erik Perrault, this lady's husband, hideous as I may be."

The mustached officer cringed at his words, his discomfort increasingly obvious. However, the man behind him peered closely at Erik, seeming to adjust to the concept of what may lay behind the white cloth held over is flesh.

"But you were not yet married at that time?" The scarred man asked him, cocking his slightly like some curious animal, a dog beholding some human simplicity which seemed to it a great spectacle.

"No, I could hardly even call us acquainted. But she explained to me her situation, and I at once resolved to escort her here, to the home of her dear friends." Erik told him, sitting back slightly in his seat. "It was improper, but imagining this small girl in the presence of that. . . _fiend_, enraged me."

He would have continued if not a plethora of images of Christine flooded his mind. Her horror at first perceiving his unmasked face, her shuddering on the rooftops after the hanging of that pervert, her despair as he dressed her in her bridal gown. Was he, perhaps, as monstrous as the daemon that had so haunted his Saturnina? Was he, perhaps, worse?

Erik found that he could speak no more on the topic. He was, as far as he was concerned, as guilty as the corpse lying in some room, covered by a sheet and swathed in his sins.

"We developed an attachment towards one another while he conveyed me to London. I thought it would break upon our arriving here, but it prevailed and he implored me to marry him." Nina closed her eyes and sighed a long, shuddering sigh. "I have feared many times during our marital bliss that he would someday appear to scourge me and to ruin us both, and now, it seems, he has at last come."

There was a long silence, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. Nina could feel the men of the room looking at her, all four of them, all with different countenances and different thoughts. Erik perturbed and Victor despondent, the mustached officer uncomfortable and the other man unreadable.

"I do not wish to disturb your feminine wits," The seated man began after some time, his voice and face as grim as night. "But may I ask for a more detailed account of how precisely the man died?"

Nina began at once to paint the horrid event of the evening. "He confronted me there, before the fountain, and he at once ensnared me in an embrace so powerful I am sure it will leave me with bruises for some time." She paused, breathing in deeply. "He whispered vile words in my ears, of how he was yearning to. . . punish me for my sins against him. He promised, then, to whisk me back away into his nefarious care."

"And you struggled with him? Or did you comply?"

"I complied, for I had no choice, I assure you." She continued, her eyes snapping to her interviewers. "He threatened to expose my husband if I did not comply."

"Expose him how?"

She stopped here, pausing with disconcert for she could not tell the truth without truly revealing her husband's atoned crimes. The two officers noticed her hesitation, and the one noted this down, much to the consternation of Erik.

"My husband, as you may perceive, was injured gravely in his youth." She began, looking down at her lap so as to avoid their four gazes. "He was left in his talented and promising youth, deformed and reviled by all. And so he hid his true visage, and it has been hidden from the sight of all but me since then."

"This is truly an extraordinary tale, but you must enlighten me as to what happened next."

"I can only recall consenting to his plans, and then my mind fails me, I am afraid." Nina said, struggling to remember what had happened but still failing. "I only recall coming to my senses in my husband's embrace, and we were both quite drenched in the water from the fountain."

The officer scribbled away in his notebook, his thick eyebrows bending inwards in a concentrated scowl. When next he looked up, the lady was tearfully dabbing at her eyes with a spare cloth. Her raven hair, now drying, was plastered to her neck and back, making her appear small and fragile.

"I loathed that man for all that he was but I did not wish him to die." She whispered, her voice cracking on her final words into slight sobs. Erik gripped her gloved hand, attempting to give her comfort but failing, and Victor found himself doing the same with no results. Neither had ever seen her distraught, and it was a shocking sight to see her usually so noble countenance tear stained and wrecked with horror.

"Perhaps then, your husband may be able to explain those moments which fail you." The farther office said, quietly, and all looked to Erik.

"I will willingly supply you with what I know." He said to them all. "But I fear that, like my wife, I know very little. I only remember seeing him there before his grave with my wife in his damned arms. And the next our places were reversed, except he no longer breathed."

Both officers looked at him intently, Erik being their obvious suspect, but his eyes seemed to reveal to them that he was speaking the truth, that neither husband or wife had the ability to recall precisely how the man had died, whether he had been held under the water as they believed or had simply suffered an aneurism in his mad state and fallen into the water to thrash about like a dying fish.

"This is a sensitive question." Stated the standing officer, drawing near them for the first time.

Nina could see clearly now the scar on his face, curving around his eyebrow and down to his cheekbone. He would have been an exceedingly handsome man if it were not for the scar, for it distracted from his youthful beauty.

"I desire to see your face, without your present covering."

"I must warn you, sir, that it is not an easy sight to behold." Erik began at once. He shuddered, recalling the last time the eyes of men had gazed upon his face. He was a different man then, but he could still feel the rage and shame he had felt then, on the stage of the Opera Populaire with the whole world screaming in horror at him.

"I am afraid it is required." The man said, his scar flickering in the dying light of the fire.

Erik seemed infuriated at the request, but he heaved a deep huff and prepared himself for the revelation. "I am as hideous as sin, if not ten times worse. I tell you this to prepare you for the sight. More than one man has screamed in horror or become sickened in the presence of what is now my face."

He rose, half expecting Victor to turn away from his sight, but the man did not. Instead he looked on, pale but calm. And they all did so as he peeled the handkerchief from his face, revealing the deformity underneath that stretched from his forehead to his chin. The marred and angry red skin proved to much for the seated officer, and he looked away at once. However, the other three remained still and staring.

Erik looked purposefully into the other man's eyes, as if silently requesting permission to cover himself again. While he waited, he glanced at Victor to see the man's face bloodless, his whole body displaying an attempt to stifle his disgust. Erik knew now that he would never again fall into the man's good graces. His face had ruined another friendship, it seemed.

"That is all we will need from you, then." He said, shortly, leaning down to whisper something into his companion's ear.

At once the other officer rose from his seat and drew a pair of manacles from his person.

"Erik Perrault, Scotland Yard arrests you under suspicion of crimes of great depravity against the country of France." The scarred man said, emotionlessly.

Nina expected her husband to offer great resistance, to tear away from them all with his immense strength and disappear into the night. Instead, he stood peacefully while the man clasped his wrist in manacles.


	34. Chapter 34

**Sorry I fell off the face of the Earth. Again. Blame my pancreas, as well as lack of motivation to do anything but watch Sailor Moon. This update is dedicated to PerilousRosella for reminding me that maybe I should finish this. Oops. Almost done, if you'll just bear with me (and my stupid pancreas which for some reason does not want me to be alive anymore).**

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><p>They would not let Nina see her husband in prison; women were not allowed even through the gates. Since Erik's arrest, Nina had stayed under Victor and Emily's roof, not daring to set foot in that house with it's nonexistent ghosts and its perpetual, painful emptiness which she knew would plague her with sorrows she could not name. However, her situation was not altogether bearable with her old friends. Emily, though obliging and kind, was absorbed with the baby and did not have time to console her and even speak a kind word or two. In comparison to Victor, however, his wife was a great friend. The man spoke little to Nina, and when he did it was evident that he thought her husband a depraved fiend.<p>

One day the two were sitting in painful silence in the parlor, Victor perusing a scientific article and Nina looking out the grande window and trying not to bite her nails. Victor was absorbed in his article when her small, weak voice broke the membrane of their silence and made him look up at her with a look akin to disdain.

"Victor," She softly whispered to him. "Victor, I must ask a favor of you." Her violet eyes seemed to look deeply into his soul, imploring silently, and, though somewhat perturbed, he looked back at the paper in his hands and continued to read.

"If it has to do with _that man_." He said, sharply. "You can forget any favor you may ask of me. However, anything else and I would be quite willing to oblige."

"Victor, the assizes are in six weeks-"

"I will not hear of it, Nina!" He countered, standing swiftly and slapping his article down roughly. He made to quit the room, but she caught hold of his arm and held him fast, turning him around and again boring her eyes deeply into his, so much so that it almost frightened him.

"They will hang him, Victor." She whispered, and tears began to brim in her eyes. It was all she had thinking of for a good six weeks, and in no way had she become accustomed with the thought. In fact, as the day of the assizes drew nearer the thought became a greater and greater burden upon both mind and soul.

"He is a murderer." He whispered back to her, still retaining his sharp tone. "Of course they will hang him!"

He then tore out of her grasp and strode to the door, ripping it open roughly and startling a maid in the hallway.

"Are we not all murderers, Victor?" She shouted to him, making him pause in his step, though he would not turn to look at her. "When we deny the beggar her coin do we not murder both her and her child?"

This drew a response from him, and Nina watched as Victor visibly exhaled. Still not turning, he seemed to deflate slightly before saying in a defeated tone, "Very well, Nina. What do you want me to do? You must realize I have very little power in this situation."

"I know you do, Victor, but think of how little power I have." She said to him, folding her hands, anxiously. "I just need you to see him. To see if he is alright, and to tell him that I am doing all in my power to help him."

"I will do this then. But only once. I have a reputation to think of, and if it has not already been ruined by this affair it will be after I'm seen there in that place." Victor sighed, and he rubbed the aching plane of his temple.

"Thank you, Victor." Nina said, softly, and he listened to the rustle of her skirts as she sat back down on the window seat. For a moment he glanced back at her, her eyes distant and unreadable, her fingers tracing her pink lips gently. It was a scene in a painting but for the anxiety resting upon her face and form like a suffocating cloak. The lace curtains of the window left odd shadows on her flesh, discernable when observed closely, and Victor felt himself grow nervous looking at her. It was with great pleasure that he finally quit the room.

The next morning, during the time in which he normally took his morning walk, Victor found himself being ushered through the damp and dark corridors of Newgate. The close walls and sloping ceiling confined him in an oppressive way, and, though he was not like those unlucky souls who found their way behind bars there, he felt as much of a prisoner. He was led on by a man in a navy uniform, who seemed unphased by all the hell around him until they reached the lip of a secluded hallway. He stopped in his steps here, causing Victor to almost step into him.

"He is down this hall." His escort told him, staring blankly.

"You will not show me where?" Victor heard himself ask, reaching for his handkerchief to blot the moisture accumilating on his forehead.

"I would rather not do so, sir." The other man said, his eyes unwaveringly locked on Victor's but still retaining that same stupidity about them. "He's a demon, that one. He belongs in hell."

Victor, not knowing how to properly reply to this sentiment, merely nodded and stepped past the man and down the dim hall. It was no difficulty finding Erik here. All but one cell was empty in this place, and the one that was inhabited was emanating the voice of something unatural but entrancing. Victor wondered to himself if Nina had not given herself to this man, but rather to his voice instead, for it held a powerful hold even on him, who was not musically inclined. In fact, though he understood none of the strange words being sung in a language he could not identify, he found himself drawn towards it like a moth to a flame.

When he reached within several feet of the cell, the voice silenced itself, obviously listening. Victor paused, as well. Something about Erik's unmasked face had deeply disturbed him on that night, and he did not want to repeat the encounter, no matter who he was to Nina. Instead he hovered just away from the bars of the cell, looking everywhere but that general direction; at last his eyes settled upon his shoes, which were scuffed from the rough floor of the prison.

"Perrault?"

"Finch?" Answered Erik, mockingly mimicking Victor's use of his surname. "Nina sent you, then?"

"She did." Victor said, curtly. "She has requested that I inquire on your health and assures you she is attempting to do all in her power to assist you legally."

"Beautifully phrased." Erik began, viseciously. "But I am afraid there will be very little to do for me legally, and you may tell her that. English and French relations have never been good; if I was to be acquitted France would no doubt start some petty war with England for it."

Listening from within his cell, Erik heard Victor exhale slowly. They were both lost in silence for some time, both men at a loss for what to say next, and Victor even considered saying a farewell and departing, but shame at the prospect kept his feet firm on the ground. He was looking at his watch when Erik suddenly spoke up, making him jump slightly.

"I know what you think of me." He said, seriously, though there was no hint of animosity behing his words. "They will hang me in six weeks, and I will finally be gone from this world. You must promise to me you will care for her. I fear she will make herself ill from this."

"I care for Nina as if she was my sister, and it will always be so." Victor assured him, nodding though he knew the man could not see him from within his cell. Silence fell over them again, and Victor closed his eyes, tired.

Erik sighed, audibly, "So it goes. I have wanted to die all my life, and now that I have something worth living for my life will soon be over."

"Are you in good health?" Victor heard himself ask. "At least allow me to tell Nina that, if not anything else to comfort her."

"Tell her I am in good health, then. I am, if it makes much of a difference."

"Alright." He replied. "Alright, then, I will take my leave. I will not be back again."

"Nina?" A solemn voice said quietly, paired with a gentle, almost timid, knock at the door of her temporary apartments in Victor and Emily's home. "Nina, may I come in?"

Staring into the thinning portrait of her visage in the slick mirror, she exhaled slowly and surrendered a tired, "Enter, if you must."

Victor let himself in, his foot steps as quiet as his soul in that moment, and he found Nina sitting at her vanity and staring blankly at her face. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her hands folded like stiff clay in her lap, and she seemed to him as lifeless as a doll. A motionless, emotionless plaything he would give to his daughter to play with, to give life to. But there was no life giver here, only a seemingly empty individual waiting to be plucked from nothingness.

Crossing to the window, he looked out at the yawning lawn with its teeth of paved stones and its tongue of freshly bloomed blossoms. Everywhere, it seemed to him, life was growing and multiplying; life everywhere but wherever Nina was. It was as if her sorrow cloaked the world around her so that it, too, would share in the deprevation of her love's absence.

"Nina, I think it may be wise to expect the worst regarding his situation." He said, as if commenting on the weather.

She did not say anything for a long while. When he turned to direct his full attention to her he expected her gaze to still be gathered numbly at her reflection, but instead the orbs of purple dawn in her eyes bore through him like cold fire. She was not scowling, but her brow was rigid on the plain of her face, and her lips held in such a motionless way that he could see at once how she clenched her teeth. She stared, unblinking, and Victor suddenly became very frightened of her.

Who was she, after all that had happened? Certainly not the young companion of his Emily, that smiling nightingale who flitted happily through the days like sparkling sunlight on water. No, she was changed. Changed so fundamentally he no longer knew precisely who she was, and that was a very frightening realization.

"Why do you not say his name?" She finally said, her eyes still filled with that cold fire which scalded his heart and chilled his body. "Is he no longer human to you? A fallen angel, a Lucifer for you to scorn and turn your back on as the angels did when God's favorite fell from heaven to hell?"

He did not answer, and she turned from him and smiled bitterly.

"You shall be of no help to me. I know that. You want for me to visit the seamstress and the tailor and have them sew me gowns of mourning black, which I will wear perpetually after he and I are parted. You disappoint me."

"I disappoint you?" He said, sharply, his temper straining within him. "I disappoint you, for loathing a man who has murdered, who has the blood of humanity on his hands, innocent blood?"

"Humanity is not perfect. The moment Eve swallowed the forbidden fruit we were forever barred from perfection."

"Yes, Nina, all men have their flaws. I may enjoy the drink more than I should, I may play cards too often and too foolishly, but I do not commit grand sin. _I _am disappointed in _you _for defending as greivous a thing as murder."

"I am not defending murder, nor will I defend a murderer." Nina said, and he watched as hot tears began to pour from her eyes. "Erik did not murder, the man that he once was murdered. He has changed, Victor, changed from winter to summer. He is no longer that man, nor will he ever be again. Now leave me, I have business to attend to."

He left her with her tears, and Nina sat at her writing desk and pulled out a blank piece of parchment. Slowly, she began to scrawl its intended address, as well as the name of its intended recipient, one Phillipe Lefevre.


End file.
